salvation in unlikely corners
by ohlookrandom
Summary: In the aftermath of a tragedy, Chekov struggles to become the man that everyone wanted him to be. What can you do when the only family you've ever known is ripped away from you?
1. Chapter 1

Hi all! Welcome to my newest foray into the Star Trek universe. I hope you enjoy your stay here :)

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in the Star Trek universe. Or Star Trek. Or the universe.

* * *

"The only time we waste is the time we spend thinking we are alone."  
-Mitch Albom, _The Five People You Meet In Heaven_

* * *

{September, 2263}

"Please state your name, Ensign."

At first he doesn't want to speak; he just wants to cradle the dull ache in his arms and his chest. His answer is reluctant: "Pavel Andreivich Chekov." A memory surfaces; of the first time he'd said that in a medically white ship to a man who reminded him of a kinder father. And another: the second time he'd introduced his full name to a man who looked at him like the big brother he never had, a man he once thought invincible. A hero.

"Your position on the ship, Mr. Chekov."

"Navigator." A slow blink, registering the sluggish beats of his heart on the monitor.

The woman opposite him waits patiently before realizing that no further answer is coming. "Mr. Chekov, do you know what day it is?"

"No." His gaze is permanently fixed on something beyond her shoulder. She glances behind her, but there is nothing there.

"Do you have any recollection of the last few days?"

He shakes his head, slowly, still staring.

"Mr. Chekov. Look at me, please."

"I cannot," he whispers.

"Why not, Mr. Chekov?"

There's a swelling in his throat and it feels as though something is sitting painfully on his chest when he finally looks at her. "You are Vulcan."

She stares back, unperturbed. "I am not aware as to why my species is of relevant issue here, Ensign."

Chekov resumes staring over her shoulder, his hands tightly clenched, white knuckles showing under the bright light. "You do not understand."

The Vulcan woman does not contend with his argument. "Very well, Mr. Chekov. Are you aware of the whereabouts of Captain Kirk and his crew?"

The first crack shows and the knuckles grow tighter. "Yes."

"Please tell me."

There is a pause so long that Chekov can almost hear the unspoken answer twist itself into a reproachful figure staring at him from across the room. Finally, the answer falls reluctantly from his lips: "They are dead, Admiral."


	2. Chapter 2

I should probably state here that I currently have no intention of writing Sulu/Chekov to be any form of slash - I'm keen on exploring their friendship, but nothing further. They're bros as far as I'm concerned.

Many thanks to those of you who have favourited/followed/reviewed so far :)

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek, or Mitch Albom, from whose book I have drawn inspiration from.

* * *

Starfleet refuses to let him out of their sight for two weeks and a half. To be fair, Chekov doesn't really want to leave, either – he would rather just stay in this bubble, immerse himself in the problems of the new transporters, figure out why the _hell _they don't work in time to beam people back up on the ship.

In the end, they send a sympathetic nurse to his quarters to kindly inform him of his _medical leave_, _currently unfit for duty_, _suggested temporary retirement until further notice_. Chekov reads between the lines. They think he's mentally unstable and he'll crash the next ship he's on out of pain or something. He only nods when the nurse hands him a recommendation for a counselor and awkwardly pats him on the shoulder – he recognizes him from physics class back when he was a first year at the Academy, but he can't be bothered to say hi.

In fact, he can't be bothered to do anything, evidenced by him lying in bed all day and staring at the ceiling. Knocks at his door go unanswered. Twice the nurse manually overrides the door to tell him he has to leave the hospital room. Twice Chekov packs up before realizing he has nowhere to go. Twice Chekov curls up under the covers and wishes for it all to go away. The nurse finally gives up and stops coming. Chekov wishes life was that easy to solve. The vodka makes it a little easier to believe that it is.

Sulu shows up a few days after, bags under his eyes and skin pale from exhaustion. "Why are you still dressed for sleep?" he asks, noticing Chekov is still in his sweats and a loose T-shirt.

"Why are you dressed for work?" Chekov retorts before letting Sulu in. Sulu glances down at his neatly pressed yellow shirt and black slacks before following Chekov in.

"I have to go see the _Enterprise-_" He stops when he sees Chekov's shoulders stiffen. "Sorry."

"No, go on." Chekov pours himself another glass of vodka before offering the bottle to Sulu. "Why are you visiting the _Enterprise_? I thought it got blown up."

"I don't drink vodka, thanks," Sulu says in response to the bottle. "It did – but Scotty had the backup plans, so…" He trails off. "Starfleet decided to rebuild it."

"So you're going back to being a pilot?" Chekov asks, his tone carefully neutral. He makes sure to keep his back turned to Sulu so the pilot doesn't see his shaking hands.

"No, Chekov. I'm going back to be… captain." Sulu hesitates when he says the last word. They both think the same thing: _nobody is worthy of that title anymore, nobody on this damn earth_.

"Captain." Chekov lets the word slip off his tongue. "Well. Good for you."

"Come with me," Sulu tries.

"I _can't_." Chekov still won't look at him. "How could you – how could anyone – Starfleet fired me. They don't think I should work there anymore."

"I'm sorry, Chekov. I know how you feel. But we have to move on-"

"So that's your idea of moving on? _You're _going back to be _Captain_? _How could you_?" The last words are screamed and Chekov finally turns to face his friend, eyes alight with an anger Sulu never expected.

"How could _I_?" Sulu rises to his feet, too. In the last four years, Chekov has grown and filled out – he's now taller than Sulu, but the Asian holds his ground. "I lost my friends on that ship just like _you _did."

"Oh yeah?" Chekov challenges. "Then what is this? You think you can just step over their corpses and sit in the captain's chair? You don't have a right-"

"And you don't have a right to tell me _anything_," Sulu cuts in, his voice suddenly sharp and steely cold like his blade. "Jim left instructions for me to take over if he ever-" He swallows the last word. "I am going to finish what they started. I have a job to do. It's what I signed on to do." He tosses a small screen at Chekov, who barely catches it. "I came to see if you would help me do it, but clearly that's not going to happen. Have a good life, Pavel."

Chekov stares at the revolving holographic picture of the crew together one last time before he registers Sulu's footsteps leaving him. "Hikaru. Wait-"

But the door hisses closed behind Sulu, and Chekov thinks about his last words to his only friend left in the whole world. Suddenly, he feels like throwing up, and he barely makes it to the bathroom before he blacks out.


	3. Chapter 3

Ahh, thanks to everyone who's been so positive for the first two chapters! I apologize if they were a little heart-wrenching to read - it may not get any better in the next few chapters, but here, have some light-hearted banter between Kirk/Bones! That might make you happy :)

Just a little bit of a flashback, then...

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek or any of the affiliated characters.

* * *

{August, 2263}

"You listen to me," Bones says sternly as he sticks a hypospray into Chekov's arm, "and don't give a damn as to what Jim says. Do _not _go around looking for the biggest monster just for kicks."

"Yes, Doctor McCoy," Chekov says patiently, used to Bones' rants at this point.

"That goes for you too, Mr. Sulu," Bones says over his shoulder. Sulu only grins and swings his legs on his bio bed. "So help me if you two come back with anything more than scratches, I will rip you apart."

"Threatening the crew members only ensures their increased chances of rebellion," Spock says from where he is reading over the planet's file. Beside him, Uhura smirks – she knows how Bones gets.

The doors hiss open and Kirk strides in, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Why are all of you in here?" he wants to know. "There a birthday party I'm not aware of? My birthday's not for another few months-"

"We merely wanted to establish protocol with Mr. Chekov, Mr. Sulu and Mr. Riley," Spock says, sliding his long finger across the screen and shutting down the holographic projection. "It is, after all, Mr. Chekov's first time on a scouting mission."

"Look at that, Spock, you _care_! Never thought I'd see the day." Kirk claps Spock on the back as the Vulcan winces. "You done reading them the riot act, Bones?"

"Now you listen here-"

"Great! Look, guys," Kirk carries on brightly, ignoring his best friend's grumblings, "it looks like a fairly straightforward mission down there. Head on down, see what botanical samples you find, head on back. All clear?"

"Aye, Captain," all three men chorus.

Kirk slings an arm around Chekov. "You nervous, kid?"

"Ahhhh – no, Captain."

"It _is _your first scouting mission."

"On the Enterprise, Captain, but I have done scouting missions before."

"Classes don't count," Sulu says dryly from the back. Chekov just waves a flippant hand at him.

"Great." Kirk lets go of Chekov and ruffles his hair. "Behave while you're down there. Listen to everything Sulu and Riley tell you. Got it?"

"Aye, Captain." Even at twenty-two years old, Chekov still feels like the youngest on the ship – partly because he really is, but also partly because his growth spurt didn't come until he was twenty. Therefore, everyone still remembers him as the gangly, overexcited teenager. It did prove to be a little taxing sometimes.

"Mr. Sulu." Kirk turns on Sulu next. "Bring back something fun. Try to top the bear on Pandorica."

"God help me," Bones groans from where he is sitting in his chair. Sulu's only response is a wider grin and a thumbs-up.

"And Mr. Riley. You're our best marksman. Shoot straight if you need to, you hear?"

"Aye, Captain." David Riley gives a quick salute before sheepishly rubbing the back of his head. At twenty-five years of age, he's still new to this job; but he's also one of the best crack shots on this side of the universe.

"Shame Scotty had to sit this one out," Kirk remarks.

"There's only so much you can do when you're riddled with Charubite measles," Bones mutters. "Have him on the ship and infect everyone on board? No sir-"

"You're behaving like an old man again, Bones," Kirk chirps cheerfully.

"At any rate," Uhura says, diplomatically sliding into the conversation before the doctor comes to blows with the captain, "Scotty needed a break. How many times did he fall asleep in the engineering room while he was on duty?"

"Three," Kirk says, "but I can bet you he's not getting any sleep with those girls on Tu'van, _wow _did you see their-"

"JIM," Bones says loudly.

"Alright," Kirk says hastily, "let's get everything sorted. Ready for this, Chekov? Awfully sorry to send you out on a boring one, first time round."

"It is not a problem, Captain." Chekov nods at Bones. "Thank you, Doctor. I will see you soon."

"Don't get into too much trouble," Bones warns one last time.

"Aw, quit babying him, Bones, he's twenty two now!" Kirk ruffles Chekov's hair, stretching a bit more than he used to. The doors hiss open, and the small group moves out of the med bay, leaving a darkly muttering Bones behind. "Mr. Spock. Have you briefed our ground crew as to what dangers they will be facing today?"

"I have, Captain." Spock folds his hands behind his back. "Is it of worth noting that today's mission will not involve any particular danger?"

"I suppose it would be reassuring." They reach the transporter room, and Chekov, Sulu and Riley check to make sure that their phasers are ready and set on stun. "Alright, guys. Here's where we leave you. Uhura will have communications up with you at all times, so you will be able to hear if she's saying anything suggestive to Spock."

Chekov cringes at that one; he _really _doesn't want to be dragged into the middle of this. Kirk notices this and grins. "Seems like our youngest one isn't quite corrupted yet," he remarks.

"Let's leave it at that," Uhura sighs, familiar with Kirk's method of teasing. She comes over to Chekov and adjusts his collar out of habit. "Sorry," she says when Chekov makes a small noise of protest. "It's just – sorry. I'm a bit of a mother sometimes. Be careful, Ensign. I expect to hear you on the communicator at all times."

"Aye, Lieutenant," Chekov says obediently. "Happy to." He understands what Uhura is trying to say – _you take care, you're family, if anything happens to you I'd be devastated_. They've shared their fair amount of personal stories over early morning and deserted midnight shifts, so they've become friends. He briefly wonders how strange it would be if he called her 'mother'. She is the closest thing he has, after all.

Uhura moves on to Sulu and Riley, and Spock comes over, all businesslike and professional as always. "Well, Ensign," he says carefully, "good luck. I believe Earth has a saying, traditionally used in their military: Godspeed."

"Thank you, Commander," Chekov says.

Something that looks like a flicker of pride lights up Spock's face for a moment, but a blink and it is replaced by the usual Vulcan steeliness. "Be sure to keep an eye on Mr. Sulu and Mr. Riley. I trust that you will be the most levelheaded of the trio."

"I doubt that very much, sir," Chekov says, smiling. "After all, Mr. Sulu is the most senior of all of us."

Something that resembles a dissatisfied snort escapes Spock's nose. "I believe that the Doctor and I would beg to differ, Mr. Chekov. As of yet, you have not made an appearance with life-threatening injuries. Therefore, I believe you are the most qualified."

Chekov grins. "I will do my best, Commander."

"As you always do," Spock says in return, giving him the Vulcan salute. "Good luck, Mr. Chekov. Live long, and prosper."

Kirk is last. "Well," he says cheerfully, "I guess this is goodbye for now, Mr. Chekov. Good thing you signed on for this mission; nobody was going to sign up otherwise."

Chekov is aware of how big a lie this is; he knows that there were an overwhelming number of candidates for this 'boring mission' and Kirk specifically picked him because it was precisely that. Boring – which usually meant safe on the _Enterprise_ – and if Kirk was anything it was protective of his crewmembers, especially if they happened to be the most precocious genius on the ship. Still, he appreciates the sentiment. "Thank you, Captain."

Kirk lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Tell me stories later, okay? I have a bet going on with Sulu that he can't smuggle an animal back on ship."

"Er, is that within protocol, Captain?"

"No, but when has that ever bothered me?" Kirk winks and straightens back up. "Just, uh, make sure it doesn't kill anyone first."

"Will do, Captain." While Spock's pride is carefully concealed, Kirk makes no move to hide it in his bright blue eyes. Chekov notes the proud expression on his captain's face, as though he is thinking: _there it is, the youngest one's all grown up now_. "I will see you soon, Captain?" he asks.

"I'll be here to greet you when you come back," Kirk assures him. "First person in the room. I'll even push Spock out of the way myself."

"I do not think that will be necessary, Captain, but thank you." Chekov smiles at Kirk, who claps him on the shoulder and guides him towards Sulu and Riley, who are ready on the pad.

Spock clears his throat. "Gentlemen. Good luck down there."

"Have fun," Kirk adds.

Later on, Chekov looks back and wonders why he didn't say anything. He should have said something – _goodbye, see you later, don't worry about me_ – something like that. But instead, he continues to smile as Sulu simply says, "Energize." And the last thing he sees before the world flashes white and takes him from the only family he's ever known – the last thing he sees is Kirk's proud expression in those bright blue eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, favourited, followed!

I'm afraid that this is going to be a rather heart-wrenching chapter; I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry.

Disclaimer: I own nothing and no one except maybe David Riley.

* * *

They land in the middle of a dust storm as it begins to gain speed.

"Are you kidding me," Sulu grumbles as he immediately shields his eyes from the sand kicking up into his face. "No one told us about _this_."

"It probably just started," Riley says helpfully.

"Should I call in?" Chekov asks.

"Yeah, go ahead. I'm going to find some shelter. Riley – stay with Mr. Chekov, will you?"

"Aye, Lieutenant." Chekov makes a mental note of how Riley's hand lightly rests on his phaser. He's not sure if he ought to be worried or reassured by the other man's constant vigilance.

"If I'm not back in ten minutes, alert the _Enterprise_." Sulu withdraws a familiar scabbard, and his katana unfurls itself to gleam in the dim light.

"Maybe five, Mr. Sulu. The storm's getting a little worse." Riley turns to look at Chekov busily typing at his screen, frown furrowing his young face. "Any luck, Mr. Chekov?"

"There appears to be some interference from the storm," Chekov says, fingers flying across the smooth screen. The holographic projections of numbers and data screen scroll by endlessly, and Riley looks away, blinking to erase the bright image seared into his eyes. "I can't get a solid lock on the communicators on the ship."

"The storm will die down eventually," Riley offers. "Once Mr. Sulu gets back we can try and fix the problem."

"No, it's-"

But Chekov never gets to explain what he thinks the problem is, because Sulu emerges from the jungle just then, swearing heavily at the gash on his shoulder. "It tried to _bite _me," he says when Riley raises an eyebrow at him. "All I did was _look _at it!"

"You weren't trying to capture it and take it back to the ship, were you?" Chekov asks, remembering Kirk's request.

"_What_?" Riley asks.

"No," Sulu says lamely in response, convincing no one of his innocence, "I wasn't."

Chekov only grins. "Good try, Mr. Sulu. How about shelter? Did you find any?"

"There's a cave nearby," Sulu says, reverting back to business. "Doesn't appear to be any life forms in there, so we should be okay. Still. Phasers on stun, gentlemen. No telling what's going to happen."

The dust storm howls in response to his statement. Chekov grimaces. _Maybe staying on the ship was a better idea._

The cave is dark and cool when they get in, thankfully wiping the sand and dust from their brows. "We should block the entrance," Sulu suggests. "Not entirely, but enough that we can stop the wind from blowing in. Any luck with the _Enterprise_, Mr. Chekov?"

"Communicators still down, Commander." Chekov fiddles with his earpiece, hearing brief static and snatches of voices coming through. If he focuses, he can hear Uhura's voice dictating the commands and reciting the procedures needed to restore communications with the landing party. For a few moments, he wishes he were back up there on the ship, working at something he was good at, but he also knows that things had to be different. He isn't seventeen anymore. Bigger things are asked of him. Even if they are just boring little landing parties –

His attention is drawn back to the situation at hand by the blaring screech. "Ensign Chekov," Uhura is saying. "Ensign Chekov. Do you read me?"

"Uhura!" In his moment of relief, Chekov forgets all protocol. "Yes, it is me. I read you."

He expects her to sigh in relief, or at the very least relax into an amused tone to tease him. But her voice does neither of those things – it stands taut, tensed and on alert. "Mr. Chekov. Where are Mr. Sulu and Mr. Riley?"

"They're here-" Chekov looks up to see Sulu and Riley come in, a questioning look on Sulu's face. "Lieutenant, is something wrong?"

There's a stifled sob before a cool voice comes over the line. "Mr. Chekov. This is Commander Spock."

"Is something wrong, Commander?"

There is a long pause. Sulu takes a seat opposite Chekov and Riley hovers over them both, hand perpetually resting on his phaser. "There were… complications that we did not foresee," Spock says at last. "It appears that the planet Dolal is a Klingon colony."

Chekov almost chokes on his tongue. "_Klingon_? I scanned the planet myself, sir, there were no traces of Klingon vessels in the area."

"It appears that the colony was well-concealed," Spock says, his voice alarmingly composed despite Chekov's growing panic. "A small group of Klingons who took this planet for their own."

The light from the projection skitters across the cave, throwing everything into ethereal relief. Chekov can just barely make out the shock written on Sulu's and Riley's faces. Finally, Sulu speaks. "What do you want us to do?"

"We don't know yet," a new voice says. Jim Kirk's voice has none of its usual cheeriness laced into it. This is the captain speaking, the hard, authoritative, confident man who gained his reputation of being invincible on the back of miracles and acts of _deus ex machina. _Chekov can't help but wonder if he will be able to pull off another miracle one more time. "For now, sit tight and don't do anything stupid. I'm grounding your mission as of now. We'll get you back as soon as possible once this storm passes."

Chekov thinks about all the empty promises he's heard the last few years and can't help but compare it to how similar this one sounds.

"You have rations that will last you approximately a week and a half," Kirk goes on, his voice tight. There's a certain gravity to his words that alarms the three men in the cave – like it's the words of a man who sees the gallows and is reciting the Lord's Prayer. "We have sent Starfleet an emergency message."

"Wait," Sulu says, reaching the conclusion faster than either Chekov or Riley. "You only send emergency messages if you are ever in danger-"

"It is protocol-"

"To hell with protocol," Sulu says sharply, fear making his words jagged and sharp, "you're always saying that – you only sent out an emergency message _one time _when you thought we were all dead."

"History is the past, Mr. Sulu," Spock begins, but Sulu is up on his feet now, fists balled up at his sides.

"The truth, Jim. Tell me. Not as a captain, as my _friend_." Chekov is reminded of the bond that Sulu shares with Kirk – a bond he will never really understand. A friendship shared over hangovers, drunken leaps off cliffs, bear wrestling, nights in the gym chasing each other around with a stick and a fencing sword. Endless trips to the sick bay. "What's really happening?"

There's a murmur on the other side of the line. Chekov hears Bones say, finally, "Tell him, Jim. He deserves to know." The sound of defeat in the doctor's voice, coupled with the lack of combativeness in his cadence alarms Chekov, sends fear skittering down his spine and diving into his bloodstream.

"You're on a Klingon colony," Kirk says at last. "They know we're here."

"So get out of here," Sulu demands.

"We can't," Kirk says quietly. "They want you. They know you're here, too. They want all three of you as Klingon hostages."

"We'll go," Sulu says. "We'll go, and you leave, and you come back and get us."

"Even if we wanted to leave, we couldn't," Bones says. "They hit us with something – took out our engines. We're stranded here."

"And we do not intend on leaving you behind as negotiating tools with terrorists," Spock adds.

Chekov finally finds it in himself to speak. "All due respect, Captain, it seems foolish for the _Enterprise _to risk itself for only three of us."

"Chekov," Kirk says firmly, "we're not leaving any of you behind."

"You cannot _stay-_"

"I am afraid that this is not a point to be debated with the Captain, Mr. Chekov," Spock says smoothly. "Nor, for that matter, with any of us."

"Safe mission, huh?" Bones mutters.

Chekov looks at Sulu for some sort of help; but the helmsman is staring out at the dust storm, shoulders still tense and ramrod straight, and Riley is biting his fingernails – no help there. "Captain," he begins, but Kirk cuts him off.

"Don't argue with me, kid. Listen to Spock. Hey, you never know. We might get out of this one. It'll be a story for the grandkids." But there's a note in Kirk's voice that terrifies Chekov further – it's a note of false hope. Like a drowning man knowing he'll never see light again, but convinces his failing lungs that they can take in one more fresh breath of air.

"Listen," Kirk goes on, his voice suddenly commanding again: "All three of you, listen to me. Under _no _circumstances are you to parlay with the Klingons. They will kill you. Starfleet has been alerted, and I am sure that you will be rescued in time-"

"And what about _you_?" Sulu demands.

"-lie low, shoot straight." Kirk keeps going, pointedly ignoring Sulu. The static is beginning to creep in again. "I don't want you to come looking for us-" It grows louder and Chekov grabs for the screen, frantically recalibrating the signal as Kirk's voice grows weaker and weaker. "-honoured to have been your captain-"

The signal fades out completely and Kirk's voice vanishes from the cave. Chekov's fingers still on his screen and Sulu snatches it from him. "Give me that," he says, "they can't be gone, they can't be _gone-_"

It is Riley who hears it first. "Do you-" He scrambles to his feet. "Listen."

Chekov hears it too, the unmistakable whine of a ship taking off. "They must be nearby," he says.

Sulu races for the mouth of the cave, pushing aside the makeshift barrier and clambering out. Riley promptly hauls him back before the other man is blown away by the increasingly wild dust storm. "Get back here," he says sharply.

"Get your hands off me-"

"I am security – my job is to keep you from doing anything _stupid-_"

Sulu looks like he is about two seconds away from punching Riley when Chekov inserts himself between the both of them. "Stop, look!" he shouts, pointing at the rapidly receding lights of a ship rising above the storm. "Where are they going?"

Sulu's answer is laden with horror and defeat. "To attack the _Enterprise_."

The realization breaks over Chekov's head like a bucket of cold water. "No," he says. "Impossible."

"The captain didn't want us to know," Sulu says, the fight going out of him. He slumps against the cave wall, sliding down. "He didn't want us to know they were going to die-"

"They're not going to die," Riley says, but his open, helpless palms and shaky voice gives him away.

Outside, the dust storm picks up in intensity, howling as it tears past the cave and batters the barrier with grains of sand. Chekov fights down the urge to leap out and let it carry him away from here, away from the helplessness of not being able to do anything. Even when they were under threat from Khan, he was still able to try, he was still able to put his hands on _something_, feel the engines under his hands, try and coax them to cooperate –

-but this is different, this is so different that Chekov cannot begin to comprehend how vastly dissimilar this is from four years ago. Now he is stranded on a planet with his best friend and an acquaintance, unable to help his family when they most needed it. His _family_. The only people who accepted him for who he was when he stepped on that ship. His brothers and sisters and friends.

The vast chasm of helplessness threatens to swallow him whole, but Chekov fights it off, choosing instead to be practical. "Let me have the screen," he says, throat dry.

Sulu hands it over. "Got a plan?"

"An idea." Chekov begins typing in coordinates and numbers. "The transporters are coded to the last known location – which would be here. But we don't _want _the Enterprise to be beamed down to this planet, we want them somewhere else-"

"You think that Jim will be evacuating the crew," Sulu finishes.

"We can at least hope that he is, and we can at least send them somewhere safe," Chekov nods. _Such a long shot, such a hopeful thought_. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows that Kirk will have chosen to go down with the ship, but he pushes that away for the moment.

"Guys," Riley says from the entrance of the cave. "You have _got _to see this."

"I'm busy," Chekov says, fingers still flying in a quick message that he prays gets through.

"You're going to want to see this," Riley insists.

Chekov makes a move to get up, but Sulu puts a hand on his shoulder. "I'll go. Stay here."

But Chekov hits send and stands up, too. "It's all in God's hands now," he says with as much conviction as he can muster. He's never been particularly religious, but if anyone needed it right now it was the _Enterprise_.

They both join Riley at the mouth of the cave and follow his gaze upwards to the sky, where lights are flashing through the storm. Chekov pulls his shirt over his nose and mouth to stop himself from inhaling the sand. "What is that?" he shouts.

Sulu's answer is grim. "Explosions."

Just then, the communicator comes back online. "Chekov," someone is shouting. "Chekov, do you read?"

"Doctor!" Chekov races to the abandoned screen, leaving Sulu and Riley behind to watch the carnage up above. "Doctor, did you receive my message? Is the captain-"

"We're evacuating as fast as we can, Chekov, but we're not all going to make it," Bones says, yelling to be heard over the sound of the alarms going off. "Some ships are being loaded but-" An explosion rocks Bones' end of the line and the connection temporarily breaks before Bones comes back online. "-the transporter is acting up, it doesn't like this-"

"It is worth a try," Chekov insists.

"I know, kid. I know. I'm calling to say thank you on behalf of everyone. Jim would have called but he's-" Static. "-occupied right now."

"Go," Chekov begs, not noticing that Sulu has turned around and is watching him.

"Kid, you know I can't leave Jim. He'd do something stupid otherwise."

Chekov tries to push away all the memories of the times he spent with Bones – like that one summer, when he tried to learn the basics of medical training, but had found out the hard way that he did not do well with the sight of blood; Bones had never laughed at him the way he knew Kirk might have in that big brother way of his. Bones wasn't Spock, who would have quirked an eyebrow while making a remark on the unusual fragility of humans. Instead, the doctor had helped him overcome that fear with careful guidance, sharing stories of his own medical training, being there for Chekov until the latter was able to get past that initial fear.

Bones has always been there for him, and Chekov wants to scream because he can't do anything for the doctor, or for his crew. "Please go," he says one last time.

"Sorry, kid." Bones does sound genuinely apologetic, a note that's not familiar to Chekov and reminds him of how terribly final this is. "Good work. Remember to be careful down there. Don't let Sulu smuggle anything-" The static creeps in again. "-stay safe-"

There's a huge explosion from outside just as Bones screams "Jim, for God's sakes, _no-_" and the line goes dead. Chekov scrambles to restore the connection, but there is none left, no way of reaching the _Enterprise_, no way to talk one last time with a man he could have called _father_.

He hears the crunching of footsteps and looks up to see Sulu, who has tears slipping down his face as he silently holds his hand out to Chekov. As he takes it and pulls himself up, Chekov chokes out: "They're not supposed to die."

"I know," Sulu says quietly.

"We should have been there with them."

Sulu's face twists in agony. "I know."

A final explosion rocks the cave before the only sounds left are the wind howling outside the cave and the sand skittering on the ground. Riley leaves his post, making sure to restore the makeshift barrier, and walks over to his two other colleagues, hovering tentatively around them as Sulu embraces a freely sobbing Chekov. He understands that though he is also part of the crew, he will never really understand what the other two know. He will never really understand the bond of what the rest of the ship called the 'inner sanctum', the 'captain's crew'. This is a grief that he thinks must be shared between the both of them. A private sort of grieving that only family members could observe.

Finally, Sulu pulls away from Chekov. "Give me the communicator," he says hoarsely.

"They're gone," Chekov says, even as his trembling hands give it to Sulu.

"I know." Sulu gently takes it from the Russian's hands. He flicks to the logs and entries, meant for a record of everything they found down here on what was supposed to be a harmless mission. He gives both Riley and Chekov an apologetic look. "I'm sorry. This is something I have to do."

Riley nods and sits down next to Chekov, gently patting his shoulder. He offers Chekov a piece of his protein bar as Sulu raises the communicator to his lips. "This is Acting Captain Hikaru Sulu," he says, his voice shaky. "The time now is sixteen hundred hours. The_ Enterprise_ has been attacked…"

* * *

I'm so sorry. Is everyone okay? Do you need shock blankets? Cookies? Tea? A hug?


	5. Chapter 5

I'm still really sorry about last chapter, you guys. I know it was a hard thing for all of us to read - it was difficult for me to write, as well. Still, I thank you for all the reviews, favourites and follows. Don't worry, the story won't be quite so depressing from this point on - I think. Chekov has a long way to go.

Ugh, I just want to wrap him in a blanket and apologize endlessly for all this pain I'm putting him through.

Also, fear not - it won't be the last time that we see Kirk, Bones, Spock or Uhura.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

{February, 2264}

Chekov wakes to someone violently shaking him, and reacts the only way he knows how these days – by punching them as hard as he can. There's a shocked and yelp and a thud on the floor, followed by an angry stream of cursing.

"Ow! What the bloody hell, lad!" A familiar Scottish accent drifts up from the wooden floor, and Chekov comes to his senses at once. Montgomery Scott sits up and indignantly glares at him. "I was just trying to wake ye; nightmares and all that."

"Sorry," Chekov mutters, rubbing the back of his head. "What were they this time?"

Scotty regards him with a sympathetic look. "You were screaming for McCoy and something about a transporter."

"Right." Chekov's tone is short as he swings his legs out of bed. He heads for the fridge in the corner, where he finds a glass of milk already on the top shelf. It's for him; Scotty doesn't drink milk but he knows how it calms Chekov down, so he's taken to leaving a glass there every night. "Thanks," he mumbles, feeling bad for having assaulted Scotty. "Sorry for hitting you so hard."

"Ah, don't feel bad, lad. Bad nightmares often have that effect on people." Scotty rolls off the floor.

"Are you sure you have to leave tomorrow?" Chekov asks, thinking about how quiet the apartment will be without Scotty's bad jokes. After all, Scotty is the only one left who understands why Chekov regularly wakes screaming about Bones, Kirk, Spock, Uhura, Sulu. Scotty is the only one left apart from him who lies awake thinking about all the friends he's lost.

A smile quirks the corner of Scotty's mouth. "Yeah. You know me – never like staying put for long." The smile slides off when he sees Chekov staring into his glass. "You gonna be okay without me?"

Chekov takes a deep breath. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess so."

Scotty approaches him cautiously, the way he would an injured animal. Hopping up on the bar counter, he says, "Maybe you should move, Pavel."

"And go where?" Chekov snorts. "I can't go back to Russia, not again."

"You can't stay here, either. It's not good for you."

"There's nowhere else." Chekov downs the glass. "No one else."

"You can come with me," Scotty offers. "Now that Keenser's gone off on the _Serenity-_"

"No, it's fine," Chekov says, and the tone of his voice tells Scotty that it's not up for discussion anymore. He's been here for four months; he knows the tells of Chekov's body language. The kid is an open book, easy to read.

"Alright, then." He lets the subject matter drop, knowing that Chekov won't budge from his position. "I'll see you in the morning."

The lights are barely off before Chekov speaks again from his bed. "Scotty?"

"Hmm?" he yawns.

"Do you ever have nightmares?"

Scotty sits up on the sofa. From the pale light filtering in through the blinds of Chekov's window, he can see the kid sitting up against his wall, knees pulled up against his chest. "Course I do."

"What are they about?"

"Ah, engineering failures usually. Or being stuck on that God-forsaken planet still. Sometimes I dream about that damn beagle." Scotty adjusts his pillow. "Did you know that it showed up in the exact same spot a year and a half later?"

Chekov snorts, but doesn't say anything for a long time. "I wish my dreams were that harmless," he says at last.

Scotty almost wants to ruffle his hair, tell him it's all going to be okay. He knows that his fellow crew mates would have had no reservations; Kirk would have been all over Chekov, messing with him like a little brother. Uhura certainly would never have had a problem with mothering Chekov. But Uhura and Kirk are not here, and Scotty is. This is something he doesn't like to think about.

"They'll pass, kiddo," he says at last, hoping that he doesn't sound too trite. "You just gotta give it time."

"It's been six months," Chekov says, his voice muffled into his arms.

"Yeah, well, I hear it takes years."

He knows instantly how unhelpful that comment is; he can almost see Chekov's shoulders snap up into a rigid line from his position on the sofa. "Yeah, I guess you're right," Chekov says flatly. "Goodnight, Scotty."

"Pavel, that's not what I meant-"

"It's fine," Chekov interrupts. If Scotty had to describe it, he would have coloured Chekov's tone with hues of black and blues; remnants of emotional scars and bruises that haven't healed. He kicks himself mentally for screwing this up.

Damn Sulu for saddling him with a teenager in a man's body.

Scotty's mind turns to Sulu as Chekov's breaths slow into the rhythmic lull of sleep. He wonders how Sulu is doing, faring in that great big galaxy out there without any of his former crew to back him up. He'd offered, of course, back when Sulu had come to see him, but Sulu had turned him down – "Somebody needs to watch Chekov," the new captain had said, tiredly running a hand through his hair. "He won't be doing well."

"Shouldn't you be doing it, then?" Scotty asked.

"He can't look at me properly," Sulu answered. "I remind him too much of that day down on Dolal. If it's anyone, Scotty, it's you."

"What? _Why_?"

"Why? _Because_, Scotty. You were part of the original crew – Chekov knows you know what it's like for him to lose everyone." Scotty remembers the look of crumpled defeat on Sulu's face. He remembers wondering: _He still has you, doesn't he_? "And you weren't there on Dolal when everything happened. He needs time and he needs a friend. You can give him both."

"I don't know," Scotty had said doubtfully.

"C'mon, Scotty. Do it for me." Sulu cracked a smile. "Besides, you owe me for that one time on E'vayzen-"

"Alright! Alright. I'll do it. But you owe me-"

"We'll call it even."

That was six months ago, and he hasn't heard from Sulu since. He knows that this is to be expected; on missions, it's normal for crew members to simply not make the long-distance call home. He just wishes that Sulu had at least called once just to make sure Chekov was okay.

Well, Scotty decides, turning on his side, there was only so much ruminating to do in the early hours of the morning. He wonders briefly how Keenser is doing on the new ship, and that train of thought leads him to wondering where he's going to travel to next. Maybe Arizona. He thinks about how it's supposed to be nice this time of year… and before he knows it, he's asleep.

But Chekov wakes from a light doze and continues to stare at the ceiling until the sun comes up.


	6. Chapter 6

I take it nobody suffered any ill effects from a few chapters ago. This is good. This is very, very good.

Disclaimer: I own nothing and no one.

* * *

Scotty finally makes a move to leave around one in the afternoon. "You sure you're going to be okay without me, kiddo?" he asks one more time.

"I don't remember you nagging this much," Chekov says from the sink, where he's washing up the dishes from lunch. Beside him, a carton of Indian food lies half eaten – remnants of their supper last night, when Scotty had insisted that he was hungry at eleven p.m. and had called the nearest restaurant on a whim. Chekov briefly wonders if he can attribute all his nightmares to the smell of curry; he could never tolerate spicy food anyway.

"Well," Scotty says, and his tone is serious for once, "if you need anything, call."

"I can't call you," Chekov reminds him, "you dropped your phone over the bridge when we went running that one day."

"Oh yeah," Scotty mutters. "Uh-"

"As hard as it is for you to hear this, I won't need your help," Chekov says. "I'm fine, Scotty. I'm not a kid anymore."

The former engineer leans his elbows on the small marble counter. "Ah, kiddo, you know I always worry."

"Well, you shouldn't," Chekov says simply. "I'm almost twenty-three. I can take care of myself." He carefully puts the last dish away. "See? Didn't break anything."

"When did you get so sarcastic?" Scotty wants to know.

"You've been living in my flat for four months."

"Point, laddie." Scotty shoulders his backpack. "Well, I'll be out of your hair soon. Everything's sorted, then?"

"As far as it can be."

Scotty hovers uncertainly. "You sure you don't want to come with me?"

"Nah." Chekov runs a hand through his mess of curls. "I don't think I'm traveling much, not these days anymore." _Not since the Enterprise_, his mind adds, but he won't say the words.

Scotty regards him with sympathy. "Alright, then."

"Where are you gonna go?" Chekov asks.

"Where the wind takes me. I was thinking Arizona."

"Wind's blowing you east."

"Maybe I'll send you a postcard. If you're lucky." Scotty winks before fumbling around in his wallet. "Hey, I know you don't want to talk to anyone about, well, you know." He clears his throat a little uncomfortably and that's how Chekov knows that he's been planning this conversation for a while. "I just think – well – if you need anyone to talk to – and seeing as to how I'm not going to be around-"

Chekov takes the small white card from Scotty's hands – _who still uses business cards on paper? _his mind wonders – and glances at it. It reads _Cynthia Riley, Licensed Therapist_. "Scotty," he sighs, feeling a little frustrated, "I don't need a shrink."

"She's not a _real _therapist," Scotty rushes to assure him. "She's actually quite terrible, really. Almost failed her psychology classes back in the day."

"So why are you giving her card to me?"

"I'm just saying, if you need someone to talk to – she's a good listening ear. She's er, well," Scotty coughs. "She's an old flame of mine. I see her from time to time to reconnect if you know what I-"

"I get it," Chekov says loudly and too quickly, ears flushing a bright red. "What if I don't want to talk to her?"

"Then I get it. Well, no, not really. I don't really get it. But hey, your life." Scotty shrugs. "As you keep on pointing out to me, you're not a kid anymore. So I'm not telling you to go see Cynthia, I'm just saying – she's an option."

"An option I won't have to take?"

"If you don't want to, you don't have to." Scotty adjusts his backpack. "Don't lose that card, lad. When I come back to San Francisco I might need that number again."

Chekov groans as he walks the smirking Scotty to the door. "Come _on, _Scotty."

"I'm just saying," the Scotsman protests. "That's all. Just putting it out there."

Chekov opens the door to the sound of the streets bustling outside. "Well," he says, suddenly feeling gangly and awkward and like a teenager all over again, "I guess this is goodbye."

"Just for now," Scotty says cheerfully. "I'll be back, don't you worry."

There's a sudden memory of a captain making a promise he could not keep, and Chekov feels the familiar pit of sadness yawn in his stomach. "Yeah," he says half-heartedly. "Yeah, you will be." He thumps Scotty on the back to mask the flood of sadness that's washing over him and threatening to pull him under. The last thing he needs right now is for Scotty to see him crumple like a piece of paper. "Have fun, Scotty. Send me messages when you can."

"You'll get so many that you'll hate me," Scotty promises, leaping down Chekov's stairs.

"Which means I won't get _any_," Chekov counters, smiling slightly.

"Aye, lad, you know me so well." Scotty waves as he trudges down the wet sidewalk. "Take care, Pavel! I'll see you soon."

Chekov waves until Scotty turns the corner and is out of sight before heading into his flat, listening to the echo of his footsteps on the wooden floor. _Alone again_. He resolutely passes by the unmade sofa bed (Scotty really needed to learn how to start picking up after himself) and instead flops onto his small mattress, staring up at the discoloured ceiling.

Funny how this was home but it didn't feel like home.

He listens to the sound of the other tenants screaming at each other from the flat upstairs; something about no milk and no cereal. Chekov wonders if he ought to wander upstairs and offer them some of his extra supplies; the last time he sent Scotty out to get breakfast, the Scotsman had staggered back with about five different kinds of boxes: "They don't have these brands in Idaho," he'd exclaimed, and Chekov didn't have the heart to tell him to take it back.

But he just lies there and listens and counts the spiders that scuttle across the ceiling. Finally, he pulls himself off the bed, noting with some dissatisfaction that somehow it's half past two in the afternoon.

The white card on the counter catches his attention when he walks past, and he pulls it off and glances at the crisp white edges. _Cynthia Riley_. He thinks about calling her, see if Scotty is right, if she would be a good listening ear.

Then he puts the card down. "Later," he says aloud to the room, as though Scotty can hear him. "I'll go later."

The card ends up in a drawer with some unused flashlights and a few candles.


	7. Chapter 7

Hi all! Sorry I haven't been updating - I've been writing as much of this fic as I can. So far, the grand total is 96 pages and I'm not even done yet - apparently, Chekov has a long way to go before he can finally get better. The good news is that there's a ton more material to come! The bad news (for me at least) is that the late night writing continues indefinitely. Which is a good thing. I'd rather have a lot to say than nothing at all, and hey! I at least know where I am going to end :)

Your reviews, follows and favourites are very much appreciated, as always! Big high fives to y'all.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, NOOOTHING.

* * *

{March, 2264}

His twenty-third birthday comes and goes without any fanfare. Scotty calls once to say hello and wish him a happy birthday, but the call doesn't last very long; Chekov hears something that sounds vaguely like gunshots before Scotty yells into the receiver, "Happy birthday, Pavel, I'll see you soon!" before dropping the phone.

He hasn't heard from him since, but he figures that he'd know if something happened to the Scotsman.

Sulu doesn't call, but Chekov knows better than to expect anything from the new captain. He understands the difficulty of placing a long-distance call when you're light years and hundreds of quadrants away from Earth. Still, he can't help but feel a bubble of resentment well up in his throat. _He could have tried_.

_No he couldn't_, the logical part of him says sternly. Chekov listens to this part because the alternative – that Sulu just doesn't care, or worse, is dead – is harder to think about.

His parents don't call, of course, and Chekov is thankful for that because it means that he doesn't have to tiptoe around their questions. His mother, inevitably, would ask when he was going to go back to work and his father – well, there was no telling what his father might do. Probably demand to know why his only son was sitting on his ass and not doing any bloody work. This is all Chekov needs to think about any time he thinks about returning to Russia. It's scarily effective in quashing any hopes for homecoming.

So his birthday comes and goes like any normal day. Chekov doesn't mention it at his new job, and nobody asks. Starfleet apparently remembers, because a small card stiffly wishing him a happy birthday arrives in his mailbox, but it's so formally written that Chekov tears it up and throws it away. "There's more warmth in the freezer," he mutters bitterly.

He spends the night paging through photos of the last time the _Enterprise _had celebrated his birthday. They're all stored on the small screen Sulu had tossed at him during his angry exit almost six months ago, and Chekov can't help but turn the cold object over in his hands, searching for some sort of message Sulu had left for him. Instead, all he finds are the photos, and a file labeled 'videos' that Chekov can't yet bring himself to watch.

He finds his favourite snapshot very quickly – it's a shot where Uhura is leaning her cheek on his head, arms wrapped around both him and Spock. He remembers this moment, can still smell her jasmine perfume that he'd bought for her (with Sulu and Kirk's help) for her birthday three months earlier. In the background, Kirk is animatedly waving his hands around as Bones covers his face – such a testament of their relationship. Sulu and Scotty are busy talking about something on Chekov's right side, their eyes alight with youthful excitement.

It's such a simple shot, but Chekov feels himself longing for the easy days of the _Enterprise, _when he could be useful and needed and loved. He belonged out there in space with these people, not stuck in a tiny, cramped flat with no one but his convoluted thoughts and memories. He didn't belong to this moment. _How long before you are rendered obsolete_?

He falls asleep in front of the hologram, and wakes to the sound of buzzing at the main door. The clock reads eight a.m. and Chekov groans. "It's inhuman to be awake before noon on a weekend," he grumbles to the room.

His fridge hums, which he takes as a sign of agreement.

The buzzer sounds again, much more persistently this time, so Chekov sighs and rolls out of bed. "If it's that damn postman again-"

He slides his finger across the computerized screen and the machine hums to life. "You have a guest, Mr. Chekov," the female voice announces.

"Tell me something I _don't_ know." Chekov hits the 'open' button without even checking who it is. "Yeah, come on in, Scotty."

He's expecting Scotty to come barreling through the door, brimming with stories and excitement and general sunny joy oozing from his pores, but instead, there are just three raps on the door. Chekov's pulse quickens. He recognizes those taps – they'd woken him up every morning on the _Enterprise_, those standardized military knocks.

So when he swings the door open, he's not surprised to see Sulu standing there, hands in his pockets. "Surprise," Sulu says, smiling wanly. "Sorry I'm so late. Happy birthday."

* * *

I do love me some Sulu.

Reviews as always, much appreciated :)

Much love,ohlookrandom


	8. Chapter 8

A wild Sulu appears!

Disclaimer: I do not own, blah blah blah.

* * *

They end up at a small diner down the road on account of it being so early (Sulu: "You know how I never like to wake up late,") and Chekov realizing that the milk's gone sour since the last time he checked (about a week ago). Sulu orders them both a heap of blueberry pancakes while Chekov twiddles his thumbs, only nodding once or twice when the bored waitress asks if that's it for the both of them.

"So, happy birthday," Sulu prompts when the waitress strolls away.

"Thanks," Chekov says quietly.

"Twenty-three. How does it feel?"

Chekov thinks about it for a moment. "Old," he says. "I guess we all feel that after we turn twenty-one."

Sulu snorts. "I wouldn't know; it's been a while since twenty-one."

They both lapse into awkward silence. Behind them, a couple whispers intimacies to one another. Chekov squirms.

"When did you get home?" he asks at last.

"Yesterday morning. I would have come to find you sooner but-" Sulu clears his throat uncomfortably. "Paperwork and all that."

"The journey went well?" Chekov asks carefully.

"Oh, it went better than expected. Had a bit of a run-in with the Rayistites; nothing too major." Sulu almost looks like he's swallowing nails, he looks so uncomfortable opposite Chekov.

"That's great," Chekov says listlessly.

"And you? What have you been up to?"

"Nothing much. Got a new job." Chekov fiddles with his napkin, tearing it to tiny pieces. Sulu doesn't miss this – he knows Chekov's tells, too, just as much as Scotty does. Chekov _always _begins fidgeting when he's uncomfortable or when he's skirting around the subject. For the time being, though, Sulu lets it go.

"Where are you working?" he prods.

"At this bar downtown." Chekov won't look at Sulu.

_Okay, that's it_. Sulu's patience is legendary, but today it's been worn thin after a week's worth of restless sleep. "Something wrong?"

Chekov's head comes up to look at him like a deer in the headlights.

"What's wrong?" Sulu asks. "You won't look at me, you won't talk to me."

The pile of pancakes arrives just then, but both men don't even thank the waitress when she sets it down with a _plunk_. She scuttles off, muttering something about _men, thankless little-_

"Nothing's wrong," Chekov says quietly.

"Then _talk _to me."

"Calm down," Chekov says right back, his knuckles turning white. "Just – take a deep breath, Hikaru, please, just…" He trails off. "Please."

Sulu does as he asks, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, forcing himself to let go and relax. Eventually, the tension slides out of his shoulders, and he opens his eyes to see Chekov nervously shredding his napkin still. "Sorry," he mutters.

"It's okay." Chekov still won't look at him. "Let's just – let's just not talk about Starfleet. Okay?" He grabs three pancakes, dumps them on the plate, and begins slathering it in blueberry syrup before shoving a forkful into his mouth. "These are really good," he says around bites. "Blueberry pancakes are your favourite, aren't they, Hikaru?" But he still isn't looking at Sulu, and he's certainly not expecting an answer.

Sulu looks at him, tries to understand how anyone could try and shut that much out. He remembers Chekov during their first few years at the Academy, remembers coming out of his room one day and seeing Chekov emerge from the room down the hall, face fresh with confusion and a little bit of terror etched in the space between his brows. Sulu remembers how excited Chekov was to be posted on the _Enterprise _that first day they were sent into space. He remembers the childish exhilaration when Chekov had performed a miracle on two falling men; he remembers the loss of that invincibility when he had failed to repeat the miracle twice. He remembers Chekov's determination down in the engineering room; he remembers Chekov's hope when Bones managed to do the unthinkable and pull Kirk back from death. He remembers Chekov's desperation down on Dolal. His raw anger, pain, terror – his strength.

How had he lost everything that made Chekov _Chekov _in six months?

_I didn't think it was this bad. _Sulu recalls the message Scotty had left for him a month and a half ago:

"_Aye, Hikaru – I guess I should call you Captain – should I? I'm not on duty. Anyway, ahem! I am calling with that update that you asked for. Or not asked for. Implied. I do a very good job with inferring things with implications, don't ya know. But anyway, where am I? Getting a bit ahead of myself, er. Oh! Yes! Pavel. He's not doing so well, sir. Wish I could do better, but nobody knows him better than you do. Still wakes up screaming. Won't talk about it. Won't talk to nobody but me, sir. And I'm afraid I'm not doing him any good staying around here. I'm going to tell him about my friend Cynthia – well I guess she's not so much a friend as a _friend _if you know what I mean, eh, heh, er! S'pose that's not appropriate information for Starfleet channels. But she's a therapist, pretty awful if ya ask me, but she's a friend. Maybe he'll go. It's the least I can do, ya know? Anyway, time's almost up, so I hope you get this, Hika- er, Captain Sulu. See you when you get back!" _

Sulu could read between Scotty's rambling lines: Chekov was shutting himself off from everyone who ever mattered, and Scotty was worried. Sulu had to admit that he was too, that first time he heard the message.

It was why he was home early, a month ahead of schedule. He'd have been home earlier if that damn navigator hadn't gotten them all lost (again). Sulu thinks about how much more efficient the mission might have been if Chekov had chosen to come with him. It would have made facing an entire load of strange crewmembers that much easier.

He'd come home early, hoping that Scotty's famous penchant for exaggeration was in full effect; but apparently not, Chekov was still broken and Sulu didn't have a single idea of how to fix it. This wasn't the boy of seventeen that he'd befriended almost six years ago. Sulu couldn't just say: "Hey, Chekov, look, it's all going to be okay." This was never going to be fixed with a smile, a friendly fist bump to the shoulder, an offer to engage in bets that he would deliberately lose.

Sulu watches Chekov continue to avoid his eyes and eat pancakes that he used to love and thinks about how he needs a miracle to fix Chekov. The only problem is that he was never the one who performed miracles; the ones who could are all dead and the only one left who can is sitting in front of him.

"So where are you going to go after this?" Chekov asks, finally realizing sheepishly that Sulu is picking at his pancakes.

"Back to the rooms, probably, until I get my bearings. Starfleet hasn't told me yet what my next mission is." Sulu swirls the pancake around in the blue, sticky syrup. "Probably won't be for a while, either; I'm not a real captain until they say so."

"But you were captain of the _Enterprise_."

"Only because Jim's instructions were very clear, and you know how he's the golden boy of Starfleet."

"Was," Chekov mumbles.

"Yeah." Sulu looks down.

There's silence for a while before Chekov blurts, "Come stay with me."

Sulu looks up, startled. "What?"

"Yeah." Chekov won't look at him still. "Come stay with me. There's a sofa bed that you can sleep on, and the flat's big enough for both of us. Scotty did it and I think you're still neater than he is, so I don't see why not."

It's the first humorous note that Sulu's heard out of Chekov's mouth all day, so his laughter is a little louder than he expects it to be. "Uh. Sure. You don't mind?"

Chekov shakes his head no. Sulu's smile dims a little when he sees that Chekov's taken to shredding his napkin again, but he lets this one go, too. "That's… that's awesome, Pavel. Thanks. I think I'd like that."

Chekov still isn't smiling. "Great."

"Great," Sulu repeats.

It's no miracle, he decides, but he'll take whatever he can. One step at a time.


	9. Chapter 9

GOOD NEWS - I have finished the entire fic, so I should (theoretically) be updating much more frequently! At least, I've finished a draft of the entire story. I'll still be going back and editing the later halves of each chapter - but the framework is in place at least :)

Thanks to all who reviewed and left comments. I like you. A lot. You make me so happy!

Disclaimer: I own some chocolate bars. You can have them. I don't like chocolate that much.

* * *

"Make yourself at home," Chekov says quietly when they get back to the flat. He tosses the keys into the empty clam shell on the table by the door, which catches Sulu's attention.

"Oh, hey, no way," he says, picking it up and turning it over in his hands. "This is from shore leave two years ago!"

"Yeah, when we went diving in the Bundalian Sea," Chekov says, leaning against the wall.

"That was a lot of fun," Sulu reminisces, smiling fondly when he thinks of the memory. "God, I'd never seen seas that blue."

"Or jellyfish that beautiful," Chekov adds.

Sulu laughs out loud, a staccato note of exuberance. "Remember when Jim said he'd catch one? Bones almost took his head off when we got back to the…" His voice trails off when he sees Chekov's face automatically shut down, guarded expression falling across like a veil. "Ship," he finishes, putting the shell down and shoving his hands in his pockets.

Chekov says nothing. He just turns and points at the open door. "The bathroom's right here if you need it. It's a small flat, you'll find your way around."

"Where are you sleeping?" Sulu asks, still looking at the shell.

"By the window." Sulu glances over to see the mattress shoved up against the windowsill. He also frowns when he sees how sunken it looks. "I've been saving up for more important things," Chekov explains when he catches Sulu's reproachful glance. "My mattress wasn't one of those."

"I can always spare you some money," Sulu offers.

"No, thanks." Chekov shrugs. "I'm not a charity case."

He doesn't _mean _for it to come out sounding bitter, but it does, and Sulu flinches.

They set about in silence, Sulu unpacking his backpack and spreading it across Chekov's flat. It's easy for the former pilot, Chekov reflects when he takes inventory of everything Sulu has with him – a shirt to change into, sleepwear, toothbrush, toothpaste, comb… _it's easy for him to leave_, he can't help but think.

Sulu comes out of the bathroom, cracking his knuckles. "I have all my clothes stored away in the storage unit," he says, "back at Starfleet. I'll get those eventually."

Chekov nods. "Okay." He's unsure of what else to say other than that, really. Today has just been him not being sure of anything.

Like the diner. He wonders what possessed him to ask Sulu to stay with him. Sure, the flat felt deserted without someone else staying with him, but this was _Sulu_, a man he hadn't spoken to for six months. At least Scotty had kept in contact with Chekov, called every few months to say hi, came over to visit when he could. Sulu hadn't even called.

Some part of him reasons that it was most likely because he was lonely, and like it or not, once upon a time he had been best friends with Hikaru Sulu. Maybe it was time to remember why.

"So," he says in an effort to make conversation. "Any big plans for today?"

"Not really," Sulu says wearily, sitting on the couch. "My big plan was coming to see you. After that I was planning on going back to Starfleet, talk to some people." He yawns. "Sorry. It's been a few sleepless nights."

"Well, if you don't want to go to Starfleet today, we can always explore the city," Chekov says, turning around and walking towards the kitchen. His voice is muffled as he adds from inside the fridge, "They've finished renovating the de Young, we can always go stare at some artwork. You like doing that, don't you?"

No answer. Chekov withdraws his head from the fridge to see Sulu completely knocked out. He can't help but grin at how stupid Sulu looks with his mouth open and slack, snoring lightly with his head thrown back on the couch. "Alright, I guess that's not an option," he chuckles softly, grabbing the blanket and gently draping it across Sulu's shoulders.

As Sulu shifts and pulls the blanket towards him, Chekov heads back to his side of the room, where the screen waits for him by his bedside table. He pulls the hologram back up again, scrolling through the various pictures, scrutinizing each one for something. He doesn't know what; all he knows is that he wants to find something. An omen, maybe. Something that told him that all this was going to come to an end. Something that told him this was planned by the cosmic powers that be, that what happened wasn't an accident, that what happened could have been avoided.

Chekov thinks that maybe he'd be okay if that was something that happened according to plan, not something that was an 'accident'.

He keeps coming back to the snapshot of his friends at his birthday celebration, keeps on remembering little sensory details from that day. Uhura's perfume. Spock's almost smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Bones' exasperated, wicked jabs at Kirk. Kirk's cheerful laugh. Scotty's thick Scottish brogue. Sulu's crisp voice mingling with the chatter. These things remind him of _home_, of _family._

Chekov is startled out of his musings by a hand laying itself hesitantly on his shoulder. "Hey," Sulu says gently.

"Sorry," Chekov says hastily, turning the screen off and standing up. "I was just-" He stops, not sure what he should say, so he just leaves it hanging. Sulu knows enough to fill in the blanks.

Chekov figures that Sulu is going to change the subject, because that's how he knows Sulu is. He runs. His whole life has been spent running from things that bother him, things that worry him, things that make him uncomfortable. Even his choice to be a pilot reflects this – always leaving something, always putting something behind him, a port, people, family, friends. It's something that's never bothered him. Until now.

Instead, Sulu gestures to the bed – "May I?" – and takes a seat next to Chekov, surprising the Russian. Wordlessly, he hands the screen over to Sulu, sitting down next to the pilot.

"It's yours," he says when Sulu takes it with a questioning glance. "You left it the day you went back to the _Enterprise_."

Sulu's mouth forms an "_oh_" as he takes it and flicks it back on. They both watch the hologram as it revolves slowly, filling the dim room with its blue, ethereal light. Finally, Sulu breaks the silence. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Chekov asks, still staring at the hologram.

"For leaving." Sulu reaches out and puts a finger on the flickering image of Spock and Uhura. "I should have stayed."

"You wouldn't have been happy," Chekov says, wanting to agree with him but feeling bound by a desire to gloss over this entire situation.

Sulu's lack of response expresses his agreement with Chekov's assessment, and they both sit in silence, unsure of how to bridge this rift between them; so they leave it at that, and let their ghosts wander through their memories.

* * *

We'll get a bit of rising action soon - I know it's been a bit slow lately... but it's coming, I promise.

Let me know what you think, as always!

Much love,  
ohlookrandom


	10. Chapter 10

HI AGAIN!

**Marcelle Dupont, **CynthiaSylar: awww, I know, it gets hard to see Chekov like this. I promise that the story is taking an upwards turn, though! Hopefully it won't be quite so depressing anymore - although there is a long hard road for Chekov ahead.

Thanks for everything, you guys!

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Maybe just a small teddy bear?  
Disclaimer 2: Small mention of suicide ahead.  
Disclaimer 3: Bones, Spock, Uhura and Kirk make an appearance! (It's not their last time either - so there's your incentive for reading more..)

* * *

It begins to rain five minutes into his run, the kind of rain that seeps into bones and shivers its way down into his bloodstream. Within moments, his shirt is soaked and his jeans aren't any better, and Chekov wishes for about the third time that he'd thought to bring a hooded sweater or something.

He's reached the Golden Gate Bridge when he finally slows, glancing up at the grey sky as it continues to rain. _Maybe it's just a passing shower_.

There's a clap of thunder.

_Guess not_.

Chekov briefly contemplates turning around to head home before he thinks about the conversation he's going to have to have with Sulu. _That _promptly turns him off the idea, so he settles for leaning over the rails of the bridge, hearing the cars hum by behind him. The alcohol he drank this morning has mostly worn off at this point, but there's a slight buzz still, a feeling of invincibility, a conviction that he could do _anything_. A hazy thought floats by: _there used to be a time where I could feel this way _without _that nudge_.

That thought takes on a more sinister turn when he looks down at the roiling ocean below. _It could be so easy_, a voice suggests. It's alarming how much it sounds like his voice. _You'd see them all again_.

He thinks of Kirk's bright smile and hears Bones' dry wit.

_You would never be lonely_.

The memory of Uhura's comforting hugs and Spock's aloof appreciation resurfaces in his mind.

_You'll have your family again_.

Chekov hesitates even as his fingers curl around the railing. He thinks about Sulu's warm grip and Scotty's terrible jokes. Something in his gut coils painfully when he thinks about losing them, too. _But if I gain everyone else back_, he can't help but think, _would I really miss them_?

"Yeah, you would," a voice snorts from beside him, and Chekov jerks his head to see Bones glaring at him, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. "You know you would, kid."

"This is a _really _bad idea," another voice says from his left, and Chekov whirls to see Kirk standing in the exact same position Bones is in. His face is unusually serious, a rare feat for Jim Kirk if he wasn't facing down homicidal villains. "And we all know that I usually don't think your ideas are terrible."

"I must agree with the doctor and the captain," Spock says, materializing next to Bones when Chekov turns to look at him. "It is not a feat I am accustomed to, but in this particular scenario, I am in agreement."

"Don't do it, Pavel," Uhura says softly. Chekov doesn't even turn to look at her; he only bows his head as she gently lays her fingers on his shoulder. He knows that it's just a ghost, but he can feel the warm weight of a comforting touch perching there, a solid anchor grounding him to this reality. "It won't be worth it."

"Well, what am I supposed to do?" Chekov blurts. "I don't know what I'm doing anymore. There's just – nothing!"

"Hey, it's alright," Kirk soothes. "It's okay, kid. It's okay to not know what you're doing."

"Yeah, take it from Jim," Bones scoffs. "He's – what are you now, Jim, freaking thirty? – and still doesn't know what the hell he's doing on that damn ship."

"_Hey_."

"You are still in the grip of human adolescence," Spock reassures Chekov, ever the logical one in the conversation as Bones and Kirk glare at each other. "Doctor McCoy assures me that human males reach full emotional maturity when they are in their mid-twenties." He eyes Kirk. "I sometimes disagree with the Doctor, however, so you may want to take his advice with a grain of salt."

"I _hate _it when you two gang up on me."

"Shut up, Jim," Bones grouses. He turns an eye on Chekov, who's still leaning over the railing. "Kid. Listen to me. If you won't listen to any of these clowns, at least listen to me."

"You're dead, McCoy. You're in my head," Chekov says helplessly.

"Yeah, my _body's _dead, but you can still hear me," Bones says. "You've read the classics, Chekov. Remember what that old guy – er, what's his name, Jim? The one from those wizard novels?"

"Dumbledore! Bones, how could you not know that-"

"Shut _up_, Jim. Yeah, Dumbledore. What was the quote – something about it happening in your head but it still being real?"

Chekov smiles. "You read the novels?"

"You gave them to me for Christmas, of course I read them," Bones says gently. "Listen, kid. You mean a lot to me. You mean a lot to all of us. If you throw that all away, I don't know if we'll ever forgive you."

"It's just so hard without you," Chekov says, his voice muffled.

"I know, Pavel. I know. It's damn hard and it's something I wish never happened but that's life." Bones rests a hand on Chekov's shoulder. "Life's a long hard road, but it makes heroes out of all of us if you make it to the end. You just gotta carry on, kid."

Kirk begins humming "Carry On Wayward Son" under his breath and only stops when Bones shoots him a vicious death glare.

"Mr. Chekov," Spock says, stepping forward. "I believe that you are sad."

"_Great _observation," Kirk says sarcastically. "It's great to see that you're even more observant when you're _dead_, Spock."

Spock valiantly ignores Kirk. "Mr. Chekov, may I suggest to you that should you proceed with your plan of action, our sacrifice will have been for nothing?"

Chekov hesitates.

"We wouldn't give you over to the Klingons," Uhura says. "That's why they fired on us. They wanted hostages and we wouldn't give you to them."

"And we showed them," Kirk adds, a fierce note of pride in his voice.

"Therefore you see my logic, Mr. Chekov. We have sacrificed ourselves for your well-being, believing that you were capable of much."

"_Are _capable of much," Uhura corrects softly, and Spock nods, taking her hand in his.

"Nyota is correct. You have served us faithfully for many years, Mr. Chekov. It is only right that we repay your loyalty by keeping you from, as the doctor may put it, 'making half-assed decisions'."

Kirk guffaws. "Say that last part again, Spock."

"I'm afraid I must decline, Captain."

Kirk snickers before stepping up to Chekov, smile still etched on his face the same way Chekov remembers it. It still rests easy on his mouth, the exact same replica of the last smile he'd ever seen his captain wear the day he left the Enterprise. "Listen, kid," he says, half-sliding into serious mode. "I'm not nearly as wise as Bones or Spock or Uhura, but you're like the little brother I never had. I don't want you doing something like this. Think about Sulu."

_It would break him_, Chekov thinks, remembering the stricken look on Sulu's face when he had stormed out.

"It would," Jim agrees. "I've spent my whole life making stupid-ass decisions and I've paid the price for them, okay? Don't think I haven't stared down this monster before. I have. And I'm glad that I beat the damn thing because look where I am now." He instantly realizes what he's said and hastily backtracks. "Okay, I don't mean _dead_, but hell – if I had gone through with what you're about to do, Pavel, I wouldn't have met any of these people. Or you. Or Sulu. Or Scotty. My family." He reaches out and gently smacks Chekov's cheek. "It's dark right now, but you have to keep going. Okay? You don't get to slide into darkness."

Uhura takes Chekov's face in her hands and stares into his eyes. "I believe in you," she reassures him, hands warm on either side of his face, "I believe in you, and we all believe in you, and Sulu and Scotty believe in you, too. You're not alone."

"It feels that way," Chekov whispers.

"I know," Uhura whispers back; her eyes are filled with tears and her hands are shaky and Chekov wonders why his ghosts are so realistic. "I know, Pavel. Just remember that there are always people who love you."

"Even if they're dead?"

"Even if they're dead," Uhura agrees. "But don't discount the living, Pavel. They'll do more for you than we ghosts can."

"And we'll haunt anyone who hurts you as a bonus," Kirk adds.

Chekov smiles for the first time in what feels like years. "I miss you," he says quietly.

"We miss you too, kid." Bones claps him on the shoulder. "But we'll always be here in your head if you need us."

"And we are always proud of you, Mr. Chekov," Spock says.

"Always," Kirk agrees.

They are gone when Chekov blinks. The only sounds left are the winds whistling past his ears and the rain slapping the metal railings. Cars pass by as always, unaware that on this normal morning, a man called Pavel Andreivich Chekov had almost committed suicide.

"Pavel," he hears someone shout, and he turns to see Sulu sprinting towards him, completely soaked and almost slipping in his worn-out tennis sneakers.

"Don't worry," Chekov says when Sulu skids to a stop, "I'm not going to jump."

"You were gonna _jump_?" Sulu asks in alarm, his face drained of all colour.

Chekov glances out at the Bay. "No."

"Good," Sulu says, and that's all he says on the matter. The two men stand out in the rain for a little bit longer, watching the ships sail up and down the Bay. Then Chekov suddenly chuckles.

"What?" Sulu asks.

"You came looking for me and you didn't think to bring an umbrella?"

"When you're tearing through the streets looking for your best friend," Sulu says a little grumpily, "you don't exactly stop to think about anything else."

"Sorry." Chekov shakes his head, rain spinning from his curls. "I was being stupid earlier, Hikaru, I didn't mean what I said, okay?" He holds out his hand. "Friends?"

"Always," Sulu says, shaking without hesitation, and Chekov's heart clenches when he thinks about Kirk's ghost. "But first, I have to tell you something."

"Like what?" Chekov asks lightly as they begin walking back the way they came.

"I'm not going on that mission."

"Hikaru, look, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything-"

"No," Sulu interrupts him. "Wait. Listen to me. I'm not going on that mission. Or any missions. I'm resigning from Starfleet."

"You _can't-_"

"Already have," Sulu says, tapping his communicator. "I love traveling the skies and the stars, sure. But I realized I liked the company more. And you know," he shrugs, "you're my friend. If my friend needs me, he needs me.

"So, as of today, I'm retired. It wasn't the same, anyway, with a different navigator."

"Hikaru," Chekov says, stopping in his tracks so abruptly that Sulu doesn't even notice for a few paces, "you can't give everything up just for me."

"And you can't go this alone," Sulu says flatly. "My first mistake was going off and thinking that maybe you'd be okay by yourself, but I don't think that worked out so well." He shrugs again. "I'm not making the same mistake twice."

"I don't know what to say."

"You can say _thank you_," Sulu says firmly. "And you can begin paying me back by calling that therapist that Scotty told you about."

"I'll call her when we get home-"

"No. Call her now." And Chekov is presented with the business card and Sulu's communicator.

"You planned this," he half-accuses Sulu as he dials the number.

Sulu only shrugs. "I may have had high hopes, yes..."

* * *

Reviews, as always, much appreciated. :)

Much love,  
ohlookrandom


	11. Chapter 11

Time for a bit more light-heartedness!

Thanks for the reviews, follows, and favourites, you guys. Y'all keep me going :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing Star Trek except Cynthia Riley.

* * *

{May 2264}

"Do I have to?" Chekov asks for the third time in ten minutes.

"Come on, we agreed." Sulu pushes him up the stairs.

"But I don't want to-" Chekov half-whines.

"What are you, _fifteen_? You agreed to this."

"You tricked me into coming!"

"I handed you the phone and the card and you dialed out of your own free will. I didn't trick you into _anything_."

Chekov huffs before walking through the glass swinging doors. Sulu follows right behind him, cup of coffee in his left hand and suit jacket draped over his right shoulder. "Come on," he says when Chekov turns to give him one last pleading look. "I'm going to be late for work if you don't get yourself in that room-"

"You really could have left this morning and let me come on my own, you know."

"We both know that you wouldn't have shown up if I had done that."

Chekov is about to retort when a woman's voice slices through their conversation. "Good morning!"

Both men turn to look at her as she pops up from behind the front desk. "I take it you must be Pavel Chekov?" she chirps, dusting herself off. "Hi. Cynthia Riley."

"_You're_ the therapist?" Sulu blurts before biting his tongue. Chekov darts him a quick look before looking back to the woman, who's currently dusting down her Hawaiian shirt and jeans.

"Well, yeah," Cynthia Riley says, tone slightly affronted. "What, a woman can't be a therapist anymore? Did you even _see _the card, or was this a drunk dial? I get all those all the time, you know, can't be too careful-"

"That's not what he meant," Chekov jumps in, coming to Sulu's defense as Sulu's mouth opens and closes in futility. "Sorry. I think he meant that you don't look like a therapist." He waves vaguely at her. "It's a little…"

"Casual? Yeah, that's the point." Cynthia hops over the desk in one smooth motion, landing on her feet. "I don't like it when it's too formal, you know? Makes me feel like I'm giving my clients a test or something. It's a _conversation_, something that the Psychiatric Medical Board doesn't approve of apparently-" She sticks her hand out to Sulu. "Hi, Cynthia Riley. Have I already introduced myself?"

"Yeah," Sulu says, and the look on his face would make Chekov laugh if he wasn't already so exhausted from Cynthia's boundless energy. "Hikaru Sulu."

"Are you coming in for therapy, too? Because that whole outfit just screams issues, you know, we could tackle that one at a time, three step course-"

"I'm actually – late for work." Sulu forces a tight smile on his face.

"Where do you work?" Cynthia asks, tone interested. Chekov makes the connection as to why Scotty seems so taken with this woman.

God, he really hoped he wasn't going to be stuck with them in a room anytime soon – he suspects that he might actually lose his marbles if that happened.

"Just down the road. Friend of mine got me an accounting job."

"You're an accountant?" Cynthia asks. "Sorry, you just don't look like one."

"Pilot by trade – but I had a degree in accounting before I joined Starfleet." Sulu checks his watch. "Wow, I'm _really _late. Pavel, you gonna be okay?"

_No, _Chekov thinks about saying, but he bites his tongue. Instead, he says, "Yeah, sure, see you at home."

Sulu nods but shoots Chekov a sympathetic smile when Cynthia isn't looking. _He _knows what Chekov really means. "Right. See you then. Good to meet you, Ms. Riley."

"_Miss_," Cynthia chortles. "Just call me Cynthia-"

But the door shuts behind Sulu with a resounding slam.

"Boy, wouldn't I like to work on him," Cynthia comments, watching Sulu stride off.

"He's not usually like that," Chekov says, feeling obliged to defend his best friend.

"Like what? Uptight?"

"Uh… sure." Chekov follows Cynthia into a spacious room. The bay windows are open, letting in sounds from the street behind the building. "Nice office."

"Thanks! I renovated it myself! You should have seen it when I first got here, complete _dump-_" Cynthia turns around to see Chekov standing awkwardly by the wall, hands jammed into his jeans pocket. "What do you think this is, the Queen's apartment? Sit. Make yourself at home, Pavel. Is it okay if I call you Pavel?"

"Uh-"

"Great," Cynthia carries on brightly. "So hey, how are you doing?"

"Uh-"

"Coffee? Tea? Cookies? They're chocolate chip." Cynthia shoves a plate at Chekov.

"Um-" Chekov takes one, wondering what would happen if he actually refused Cynthia's offer. He figures it wouldn't be anything good.

"They're good aren't they?" Cynthia probes, watching Chekov hesitantly nibble on one.

"They're not bad," Chekov says as truthfully as he can without spitting out his cookie.

"Huh." Cynthia watches him, and she's wearing an expression that vaguely reminds Chekov of the first time he'd ever failed a test.

"They're a little hard," Chekov tries to offer.

"Oh, ugh, I know, right?" Cynthia puts the plate aside. "Scotty gave me this recipe, said it was a family recipe. I'm not sure if he gave me a recipe for rocks or for cookies."

Chekov decides not to tell her that the problem with the cookies isn't the texture, it's the taste – it tastes like sandpaper. He surreptitiously drops the cookie in the trash can when Cynthia's not looking. "You've known Scotty for a long time?" he asks, trying to change the subject.

"Since we were wee kids! Back when he had hair." Cynthia laughs uproariously at her own joke and Chekov shrinks a little into his chair. "Ah, Scotty. Is he still gallivanting around the world?"

"Just the US," Chekov says, "no idea where he is now."

"That's Scotty for you – always off in the wind somewhere, and then he pops up when you least expect him to." Cynthia pulls up her legs so that she's cross-legged in her chair. "How do you know Scotty? He didn't say when he told me that you might call."

"We worked on the same ship together," Chekov says.

"In Starfleet?"

"Yeah." Chekov watches the dust particles filter through the sunlight.

"Tell me more about Starfleet," Cynthia says. "I always tried to apply for a job there, but they turned me down – said I wasn't qualified."

Chekov almost makes a comment, but bites his tongue just in time. "What a shame," he says lamely.

"Right!?" Cynthia pushes her glasses up on her nose. "Load of bureaucrats, that organization. But hey, you must like it there!"

"I did." Chekov can't bring himself to look at her.

"So – you and Scotty worked together. What was that like?"

"Like working with a live wire," Chekov says honestly.

"Really?" Cynthia's tone is interested. "Tell me about that. What stupid things did he do?"

"Well-" Chekov hesitates.

"Don't worry," Cynthia grins. "Anything you say here is confidential. Doctor-patient confidentiality and all that. Scotty won't ever know where all the blackmail is coming from."

"Uh-"

"I mean, you don't _have _to tell me, of course," Cynthia says brightly, taking a bite out of a cookie before choking. "Christ, that's _awful_. What did I do wrong this time?"

"I think you might have forgotten the vanilla extract," Chekov says, thankful to have escaped from the tentacles of a subject he still doesn't want to talk about. Ghosts are ghosts, and for some reason, he still wants to hold on to his.

"Damn, I think you're right." Cynthia scowls at her cookie. "What a waste. Do you cook, Pavel?"

"Only a little bit. I bake a lot."

"You'll have to teach me sometime! I'm rubbish at cooking. It'll be your payment for the therapy."

"What?"

"Yeah, it's free." Cynthia shrugs. "I just don't see why I should be paid for sitting here and listening to you, you know? It's another thing the Psychiatric Medical Board doesn't like about me."

"Is this even licensed?" Chekov asks.

"Ehhhhhh," Cynthia hedges. "As a matter of speaking, yes."

Chekov gapes at her.

"But anyway," Cynthia chirps, "back to you and Scotty. Tell me all the juicy details. I heard that he once beamed a dog into outer space?"

* * *

I do love Cynthia dearly.

Much love,  
ohlookrandom


	12. Chapter 12

Can I just say how relieved I am that you guys really liked Cynthia? :) Thanks for all the positive reviews so far, you guys. It really keeps me going and makes me so happy to hear from y'all!

Don't worry - the next few chapters won't be _as _depressing (I think). Stick around to find out!

Without further ado - I present bonding time between Chekov and Sulu.

Disclaimer: Naaaaaaaah.

* * *

"She's _crazy_," Sulu says later that night over Chinese take-out.

Chekov snorts. "Yeah, cause I'm not the one in therapy or anything."

"Just cause you're in therapy doesn't mean you're insane, Pavel. Trust me, I would know."

"What do you mean, you would know? You've never been in therapy."

Sulu raises an eyebrow and grins like he has a secret.

"_No_." Chekov sets down his bowl of hot and sour soup, eyes wide. "_You_? In therapy? What _happened_?"

"Let's just say that when I was fifteen, I had a taste of rebellion, okay? My parents were worried, so they signed me up to see a counselor."

Chekov stares at him, eyes wide. "What did you _do_?" he asks, tone alternately admiring and terrified.

"Nothing to worry about." Sulu relents when he sees Chekov still goggling at him. "Alright, fine. I'd spray painted our entire neighbourhood black. The neighbours didn't really like that all that much."

Chekov guffaws as he picks his bowl back up. "I don't believe it. This explains so much."

"Ha, ha." Sulu takes a bite out of his chow mein. "What, you never did something stupid when you were younger?"

"When I was eight, I set off all the fire alarms in my school." Chekov shrugs.

"That's a pretty lame story."

"I was a good kid. What can I say?" Chekov grins. "Did the therapy work?"

"No," Sulu mumbles around a mouthful of noodles.

"What did your parents do, then?"

"Enroll me in fencing class."

Chekov raises an impressed eyebrow. "That worked?"

"Believe me, getting my ass kicked was a pretty effective way of getting me to shape up." Sulu's head pops up when the buzzer rings. "Visitors? Did we order more food?"

"Yeah," Chekov deadpans, "we ordered pizza, don't you remember?" He slides his fingers across the screen. "Who is it?"

"Let me in and you'll find out," a familiar Scottish accent remarks.

"Scotty!" Chekov hits a button and pulls open his front door. "Hey! It's good to see you – why are you wet?"

"Because it's bloody San Francisco," Scotty gripes, "and it rains all the damn time." His countenance brightens when Sulu turns around, brushing off stray noodles from his shirt. "Hikaru Sulu, in the flesh! Welcome home, sir. Captain. What do I call you?"

"Just Hikaru," Sulu says. "I don't work at Starfleet anymore."

"_What_?"

"For God's sakes, Scotty, go get yourself dried off," Chekov says, shoving Scotty towards the bathroom and closing the door. "You're dripping all over my floor."

Sulu glances at Chekov as Chekov returns to the dining area. "You didn't tell him?"

"Sure, because I was supposed to know where he was at any given time," Chekov says flatly.

Sulu acknowledges his point with a tilt of his head and a purse of his lips as Scotty comes out, rubbing his head with a towel. "D'ye have a spare shirt?" he asks, and Chekov and Sulu groan when they turn to see him without a shirt on. "I think mine mighta gotten soaked in the storm-"

"Yeah, yeah," Sulu says, grabbing a spare shirt off the ground and throwing it at Scotty. "Here, wear this-"

"I can't wear this, are you mad? It was on the _floor-_"

"I think my eyes are burning," Chekov moans, only half-joking. "Put the shirt on, Scotty, before I throw you out of my flat for public indecency."

Scotty complies, even though he's grumbling and muttering the whole way. Eventually he joins them at the counter, accepting the steaming bowl of soup Chekov hands him. "So, why aren't we calling you Captain?"

Sulu shrugs. "I just didn't think Starfleet needed me anymore," he says evasively.

The Scotsman catches Sulu's meaning. "Oh," he says knowingly. "Alright. I got it. So what are you doing these days, then?"

"I'm working as an accountant. Nothing interesting. Here, you want some noodles? I have too much."

Chekov narrows his eyes at Sulu's obvious skirting of the subject, but doesn't say anything. "So, Scotty," he says when Scotty's got his mouth full with food and can't grill Sulu any more, "where have you been gone to? What exciting adventures do you have to tell us?"

"Mmmmfff," is Scotty's answer through a mouthful of noodles. Sulu glances at Chekov and nods his thanks.

Chekov nods back in response.

Scotty spends the next thirty minutes regaling Sulu and Chekov with stories from his explorations in Arizona. Chekov and Sulu obligingly listen, even if they can sense the exaggeration prevalent in each one of Scotty's stories; they're good listeners, if anything. Finally, Scotty concludes his epic story by finishing, "And that's how I ended up back in San Francisco on the back of a sardine truck." He downs the glass of soda Chekov dutifully hands him. "So, Hikaru, are you staying here then?"

"For now," Sulu says, "until Pavel kicks me out or I find my own place – whichever one comes first."

"You do snore really loudly," Chekov says dryly.

Sulu throws a napkin at Chekov's head. "Do you have somewhere to sleep, Scotty?" he asks as Chekov dodges the missile, laughing. "I don't mind going somewhere for the night if you're crashing here-"

"Nah," Scotty says dismissively. "I can make my own plans. Speaking of plans, lad, where'd you put the card I gave you? Maybe I'll call Cynthia, see if she wants to reconnect, if you know what I mean."

Chekov groans, even as he hands Scotty the card. "_Scotty_."

"Sorry, have I used that line before?"

"Unfortunately."

"Did you ever call her?" Scotty asks, suddenly remembering the purpose of the card.

"I did," Chekov says. "I just went to see her today for the first time, actually."

"Yeah? What did you think of her? Piece of work, isn't she?"

"Oh, absolutely," Sulu mutters, and Chekov chokes back a laugh.

"She's… energetic," he says diplomatically while trying not to chortle at Sulu's incredulous expression. "I can see why you two are friends."

"God, we were terrors out on the playground," Scotty says, smiling fondly at the memory. "A lot of screaming. Hasn't really changed these days-"

"SCOTTY," Sulu and Chekov say loudly at the same time.

"_What_? All I meant was that we're both a wee loud, is all! _Christ_. Get your minds out of the gutter." Scotty shakes a finger at both Chekov and Sulu. "So, you like her, Pavel?"

"Uh-"

"Great. I knew it would work out!" Scotty rubs his hands together, and Chekov can't help but laugh at how similar he is to Cynthia. "Right, lads. I'm off to see my woman. Don't expect me back."

"Don't expect you _back_?" Sulu says incredulously. "What, you're just going to leave San Francisco without at least saying goodbye to us?"

"You nag too much, Mr. Sulu." Scotty rolls his eyes. "Course I'll be back. I'll bring a sleeping bag when I come over next, if that's okay, Pavel."

Chekov only raises his glass of soda. "My floor's your floor," he says. "Unless you're dripping all over it."

"What have you _done _to him?" Scotty asks Sulu with mock alarm.

"Only made him a better person," Sulu snarks. He waves a hand at Scotty. "Aren't you supposed to go and find a certain therapist now?"

"Och, you really _are _a slavedriver. Alright lads, I'll see you tomorrow!" And Scotty disappears out the front door.

Chekov takes a sip of his Coke. "Bets on when he gets back."

"Not till noon," Sulu says, inspecting his now empty take-out box.

"I say before ten, after eight."

"You're on," Sulu chortles. "Easy money for me."

"Yeah, yeah." Chekov grabs the empty dishes and puts them all in the sink, rolling up his sleeves as he works. "What time do you have to be at work tomorrow?"

"Not till nine. Anything else you need me to do around here?"

"Yeah, hand me the forks on the table." Chekov leans against the sink as the tap runs, water sliding down his wrists. "Hey, do you mind me asking a question?"

"As long as it's not about my delinquent past," Sulu quips.

"Trust me, I know all I want to know about that," Chekov says. "Why don't you want to talk about your new job? Aren't you excited about it?"

It's a naïve question, he thinks later. He should have known better than to try and push Sulu for an answer he didn't want to give.

Sulu's answer is carefully measured. "Sure, I guess."

"You _guess_?" Chekov's voice is incredulous. "You're working in one of the best firms in the city! People would kill to have your job."

"I bet they would." There's a rustling and then Sulu hands him a few forks. "Here's the rest of the silverware. I'm going to bed."

"It's only ten-"

"Yeah, well, it's been a long day." Sulu's tone brooks no argument, and Chekov is suddenly reminded of how closed-off Sulu could be, too. "See you tomorrow morning, Pavel."

Chekov thoughtfully washes up and puts the dishes in the drainer, watching his reflection waver in the distorted window. By the time he gets to bed, Sulu's already got the blankets over his head, tightly curled up in a ball on the couch.

But Chekov knows, though, that Sulu isn't really asleep. In fact, Sulu doesn't drift off to bed until hours later– he only watches the moon rise and fall outside Chekov's window and listens to the sound of everyone else living their life. He half-wishes he could, too.

* * *

YAY SCOTTY!

Let me know what you think, as always :)

Much love,  
ohlookrandom


	13. Chapter 13

You guys make me smile. You rock. That is all.

Disclaimer: Yoooooooo - nooooooooo.

* * *

{June 2264}

"Tell me about Hikaru Sulu."

Chekov looks up at Cynthia as she thoughtfully taps a pen against her teeth. Today she's dressed in jeans, hiking boots and a Bohemian-style blouse and is draped precariously across the back of the couch. "Sulu?"

"Yeah." Cynthia twirls her pen. "I see you with him all the time. He's clearly a friend. Tell me about your relationship with him."

"What's that got to do with this?" Chekov asks.

"You're defensive," Cynthia remarks. "Oh my God, are you two like an item? Like partners? You don't have to hide, you know, it's the twenty-fourth century-"

"We're just _friends_," Chekov says.

"Right," Cynthia winks. "But you want to be more?"

"_No."_

"Alright, alright, Pavel, put your hackles down. I was just teasing." Cynthia pulls herself upright and slides down the couch into a cross-legged position. From there, she slings a leg over her neck and stretches. "How long have you known him for, anyway?"

"Six years," Chekov says, reconciling himself to the fact that Cynthia isn't going to drop the subject any time soon.

"_Six_. Wow, that's a long time to have known someone."

"You said you knew Scotty when you two were kids," Chekov points out.

"Yeah, but kids are kids. It's different." Cynthia shrugs. "Six years, huh? Where'd you meet him?"

"Starfleet. We lived on the same floor."

"College buddies! Those are my favourite kinds." Cynthia unscrews a jar and takes out a small cookie. "Store bought, darling, don't worry. I didn't try killing us today. Cookie?"

"Thanks," Chekov says, taking a cookie from her. "Yeah, I've known Sulu since Starfleet. We took almost all the same classes."

"Yeah? Why almost?"

"Well-" Chekov shrugs. "He's a pilot, so he was taking all those courses, and I was training to be a navigator, so I was taking like transporter theory classes and physics-"

"Got it. You were the brainy one, and he's the more hands-on type."

"Sulu's smart," Chekov says defensively.

"I'm not denying that," Cynthia says around a mouthful of cookie, crumbs spilling out of the corners of her mouth. "So you two stayed in touch after you graduated?"

"We…" Chekov pauses.

Cynthia waits, eyebrow raised. For once, Chekov wishes that she would say something to fill the silence, but she only waits expectantly, chewing on the cookie.

"We worked together," Chekov says at last.

"Really?" Cynthia's tone is too interested for it to be a coincidence, and Chekov's suspicion levels peak. "Where'd you work?"

"On a ship." Chekov nervously rubs his hands on his jeans. "He was the helmsman and I was the navigator. We were both only cadets."

"Only cadets?" To Chekov's relief, Cynthia grabs this point and runs with it. "Impressive feat. Six years ago would put you at seventeen years old, right, Pavel?"

Chekov is suddenly assaulted by memories of Bones glaring at Kirk like it was his entire fault: _Oh good, Jim, he's seventeen_. Like Kirk could have somehow known that an underage kid would be on the ship. He remembers Spock confirming his calculations, even then somehow knowing how Chekov craved affirmation and acknowledgement. _Captain, Mr. Chekov is correct_.

Something presses on his chest and it's suddenly like he's underwater, gasping for air. "I-" he manages to get out.

Cynthia is by his side in a flash, pressing his hand. "Pavel? I'm here. Take a deep breath."

"Listen to her," Kirk says from where he's standing by the window. There's a look of alarm on his face. "Pavel, _breathe_."

Almost as though his body is conditioned to listen to his captain's orders, Chekov feels the weight lift slightly. He grabs the handles of the chair, forcing himself to suck in deep breaths through his mouth as Cynthia rubs his back. Finally, the weight dissipates.

"It's okay," Cynthia reassures him, and suddenly she's a therapist, not just some woman in loose-fitting blouses and jeans who chatters endlessly. "Just an anxiety attack, I think. You're going to be okay, Pavel."

"I've never had anxiety attacks before," Chekov wheezes, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Neither have I," Cynthia quips, sitting back on her heels. "But something triggered it. Why is seventeen significant?"

Chekov blinks, and when he opens his eyes Kirk is no longer standing by the window. He tries to swallow the deep feeling of loss that roars to life in his throat, afraid that if he gives it reign, it would explode in a torrent of screaming. "When I was seventeen, it was the first time Sulu and I ever worked with a crew." He's too tired to try and shut her out.

Cynthia waits for more.

"I've never worked with another crew after that day," Chekov clarifies. "We were a family. I've never had a real family before, you see." He looks down at his fingernails.

"I see." Cynthia is quiet for a bit before she stands up. "Alright, let's change the subject."

"You don't want to talk more about this?" Chekov asks, taken aback.

"Do _you_ want to talk more about this?"

"Uh-"

"I didn't think so," Cynthia says casually. Chekov furrows his brow, suspecting that Cynthia isn't quite the hare-brained therapist that she's painting herself to be, and feels a grudging seed of admiration blossom. "So, Pavel. You told me that you took transporter theory classes. What were those like?"

* * *

Yeah, Chekov, what _were _those like?

(1) This chapter may not be an accurate representation of what panic attacks feel like.

(2) or therapy.

(3) were they even cadets in Star Trek: 2009? I guessed. For the sake of this story I'm going to roll with it.

Much love,  
ohlookrandom


	14. Chapter 14

You all have been so great so far - thanks for all the comments, favourites and follows.

I just revamped some of the story, so the next few updates might be a while coming. Just a heads up, though!

Here, as a reward for being so awesome, have some Scotty/Sulu/Chekov banter.

Disclaimer: Don't I _wish_.

* * *

Chekov gets home before Sulu does, even after taking an extra two hours overtime at the bar. "Hi, Scotty," he says tiredly as he walks past the dozing Scotsman in his sleeping bag.

"Mm? Er, hmm!" Scotty jerks awake with a start and almost rolls over. "Morning, Pavel."

"Actually," Chekov says, pouring himself a cup of tea, "it's six in the afternoon. You've been asleep for almost the whole day."

"Are you serious?" Scotty peers at the digital clock above Chekov's head. "Bloody hell, why didn't any of you wake me up!"

"You weren't here when Sulu and I left this morning," Chekov says patiently, pouring Scotty another glass of tea and handing it to him. "It's chamomile," he explains when Scotty sniffs it with a look of suspicion. "It's supposed to soothe you."

"I don't drink tea," Scotty declares.

"You're Scottish. I thought every British citizen knew how to drink their tea."

"I'm Scottish, not English," Scotty sniffs.

"Well, I'm glad to see that the distinction is still prevalent in the 24th century," Chekov says dryly, putting the cup away and pouring Scotty a glass of juice instead. "How exactly are you going to sleep tonight if you've slept the whole day away?"

"You can tell me about your theories about the latest transporter issues," Scotty drawls. "_That _always puts me to sleep."

"Your girlfriend seems to think that it's fascinating," Chekov retorts.

"She's not my girlfriend," Scotty says into his glass. He drains it in one gulp, wincing at the sour taste. "Are you sure you're in therapy? That don't sound like… therapy talk."

Chekov thinks back to the debacle with the anxiety attacks and remembers how relieving it was to talk about something completely unrelated to the _Enterprise_. "You'd be surprised," he says vaguely.

Just then, a key scrapes in the lock and Sulu staggers in, holding two bags of groceries in his arms. "Oh, you're awake," he says when he catches sight of Scotty. "Have you really slept through the whole day?"

"You were home and you didn't wake me up?!"

"Well – you were snoring so peacefully," Sulu defends himself, handing Chekov a bag of groceries. "Will it make you feel better if I tell you that I got you your favourite brand of cereal?"

Scotty coughs. "I don't have a favourite brand of cereal." Still, his eyes follow the box of Lucky Charms as a grinning Chekov takes it from Sulu. _They _know the truth.

"How was your meeting with Cynthia?" Sulu asks.

"It wasn't bad," Chekov says semi-truthfully, deciding to leave out the part where he saw Kirk's ghost and almost had a panic attack. He's seen the dark rings under Sulu's eyes; the former pilot has a lot on his mind, he suspects, and he doesn't need Chekov's problems burdening him any more than the bare minimum. "I was actually just about to tell Scotty that Cynthia thinks I should be an instructor at Starfleet."

"On what, navigation?" Sulu asks.

"Advanced theoretical physics." Chekov shuts the cabinet door, holding a packet of fusilli. "I told her it was a silly idea."

He misses the meaningful glance between Sulu and Scotty. "_I _think it's a great idea," Scotty says at last.

"I agree with Scotty," Sulu says. "And I'm not the one sleeping with your therapist so, you know, you ought to take my word for it."

Scotty punches Sulu ("OW!") before turning back to Chekov, who's staring at the pot of water. "I really think you should give it a try, lad," Scotty says. "You'd be great at it."

"Yeah, come on, Pavel." Sulu rubs the spot where Scotty punched him, but he's half-laughing, so Chekov figures it's nothing too major. "You graduated top of our class in that area – why wouldn't you be a great instructor?"

"You'd probably be light years ahead of the greatest minds in the field," Scotty adds.

"He already is," Sulu reminds him. "Remember that one time-"

Scotty is already laughing. "Are you talking about the time he corrected Novak Zoran in class when he was giving a lecture?"

Sulu barks out a sharp note of laughter. "I was actually thinking about the time that he disproved Sen Gupta's theory of relative quantum gravities. His _face_ – and the ribbing we all gave him after-"

"I heard about that," Scotty exclaims, "that went down in Starfleet history-"

But he notices that the laughter has already died off Sulu's face, and so follows his gaze to Chekov, who's staring out the window as the pot of water boils in front of him. "Pavel?"

"Hm?" Chekov seems to rouse himself out of a stupor. "Right. Oh. Sorry." He hastily dumps the fusilli into the pot, accidentally splashing his arm in the process. "Ow! _Damn _it_._"

"Alright, you daydreamer, no need to go throwing things in excitement," Scotty says, getting up. Sulu is already guiding Pavel towards the couch. "I'll handle the pasta. You two go and do whatever it is you need to do."

"It's just a small burn," Pavel says a little pertly, but lets Sulu push him towards the couch anyway.

"What's wrong?" Sulu asks in an undertone as he grabs the roll of bandages Scotty tosses at him.

"Nothing," Chekov mutters.

"No, come on, I know you." Sulu begins wrapping Chekov's hand, noticing that the skin is already red. "You don't want to go back to Starfleet?"

Chekov won't look at him.

"You don't have to, you know," Sulu says. "I just think it would be something you'd enjoy."

"I'm not ready," Chekov blurts, turning to him. He doesn't say what he's thinking: _it doesn't feel right. _

"Okay." Sulu covers his hand for a moment. "That's fine. Don't go back if you're not ready. Just – keep your options open, okay?"

Chekov smiles tightly. "Okay."

"Okay," Sulu repeats, smiling slightly. "Scotty, you need help?"

"Is the pasta supposed to be sticking to the bottom of the pot?"

"_Christ_, Scotty, how did you ever survive living on your own-" Sulu scampers off to save their dinner from the Scotsman.

Chekov watches them both from the couch as Sulu good-naturedly punches Scotty in the shoulder and pulls the pot off the stove. "Leave it to you, we wouldn't have anything to eat-"

"Oye! I'll box your ears for saying that-"

"You couldn't catch me even if you tried."

"All big talk, Mr. I've Got Close Combat Training," Scotty snorts, handing Sulu the jar of Bolognese sauce from the fridge.

Chekov tunes Sulu's retort out as he glances at Cynthia's papers on the coffee table. APPLICATION, it reads at the top. He contemplates filling it out, sending it in – _it couldn't hurt_, his mind says.

But something in him resists.

Eventually he just grabs the papers and shoves them under his pillow, planning to shred them in the morning.

* * *

I once accidentally dropped the whole bag of fusilli into the pot. I didn't enjoy that experience.

Let me know what you think :)

Much love,  
ohlookrandom


	15. Chapter 15

A bit of a short chapter for this one - it leads into the next one, I promise! Also, we may be drifting back into deep waters again. You've been warned.

Thanks again to all who reviewed or favourited - it means a lot to me. :)

Disclaimer: Don't got a penny to my naaame~

* * *

"You give any more thought to my proposition?" Cynthia asks the next week when Chekov comes in for their weekly 'conversation', as she puts it.

"I don't think I'm going to do it," Chekov mumbles, rubbing his eyes. He makes a mental note to restock the sleeping pills; he hasn't gotten a new supply since Sulu and Scotty moved in.

"What? Why not?" Cynthia sits up straight in her chair. "You'd be _great _at it!"

"That's what Hikaru and Scotty said," Chekov says. "But – I don't know. I can't walk back into Starfleet. Not after what happened last time."

"Why, what happened last time?"

Chekov fiddles with his fingers. "I'd rather not talk about it."

Cynthia sighs before getting up. "Pavel. Darling. You know, you and I aren't really all that much different." She sits down beside him on the couch, crossing her legs and drumming on her knees. "I know you've been through a lot, but – sometimes it helps to talk about it, you know?"

He just shakes his head stubbornly, ignoring the ringing feeling in his ears and the sudden queasiness in his stomach.

"Okay." Cynthia holds up her hands. "We won't talk about it. Not until you're ready." She stares into space for a moment before brightening up. "So, tell me about your parents."

An involuntary snort escapes Chekov's nose. "My parents?"

"Yeah. You said you never had a real family before, so – you know – explain. Clarify. Tell me a story. Tell me about _you_."

"What if I don't really want to?"

"Then we can just sit here and talk about the weather for hours," Cynthia says cheerfully. "I don't have any other clients today, Pavel – I can keep this up for ages if I need to."

"Well," Chekov says, resignation in his tone, "what do you want to know?"

"Hmmmmmm." Cynthia taps her pen against her teeth. "Tell me… about your hometown."

Chekov raises an eyebrow, but he goes along with it for the moment. "I was born in Moscow, Russia."

"I've never been to Russia," Cynthia says thoughtfully. "It's something I've always wanted to do."

"It's beautiful," Chekov offers helpfully. He thinks he sees movement out of the corner of his eye, but when he turns to look, the world swims for a moment. Chekov blinks, and bright shapes appear before vanishing before his eyes.

"Oh, I'm sure it is. Okay, my turn."

"Your turn?"

"Yeah. This is a conversation, remember? You don't get to talk all the time," Cynthia winks. "Okay. Ask me a question."

Chekov sighs, wondering what stories he'd have to tell Sulu tonight. "Fine. Um… tell me about your hometown."

Cynthia pouts. "You're _so _not creative. Okay. I was born in Boise, Idaho. My whole childhood was characterized by one thing: potatoes." She grins. "It's such a stereotype, ain't it? But no, really – my family grew potatoes for a living."

"How did you decide to become a therapist, then?" Chekov asks curiously.

"Well – I mean – haven't you ever decided as a kid that you wanted to be something more than what your parents expected of you?"

Chekov thinks back to his own childhood – the years of education, tuition, and money spent on ensuring that he got the best teachers in math, physics, science. He remembers his father and his thin voice: _you were cut out to be a scientist, and a scientist you'll be_. Even then, he had always known that he belonged among the stars, that there was something more than the Russian winters that kept him at home.

He thinks with a bit of irony that he should have told Sulu that that was his biggest act of rebellion – defying his father's wishes.

"So I became a therapist," Cynthia is saying when Chekov drags his attention back to her. He shakes his head a little, wondering why his focus just isn't here today. "I like it better, too. More interaction with people, and actual people, not just potato farmers." She snorts. "My brother – my brother, he wanted to be something more than just a potato farmer, too. So he joined Starfleet."

"Your brother was in Starfleet?" Chekov asks, interest piqued.

"Sure was." Cynthia smiles proudly. "My little brother David. He wanted to go into personnel. David was a people person, just like me."

_David Riley_. The realization breaks over his head and Chekov wants to kick himself for missing it. _Some precocious genius I am_. The photos on the desk that he had never bothered to look at, the way Cynthia emphasized her 't's the way David did, the last names, her constant persistence in talking about Starfleet. _How long has she known I've worked on the Enterprise_?

"You look as though you've seen a ghost," Cynthia says, catching sight of Chekov's pale face. "Something wrong?"

"I worked with David Riley," Chekov says, rubbing his neck. His fingers come away cold and shaky. "On the Enterprise."

A shadow falls across Cynthia's face – for a second, she loses her cheery composure. "You did?"

"You didn't know?"

"David never spoke about his time in Starfleet." Cynthia folds her arms and leans back. "How long did you know him for?"

"Not very long. He came on board about halfway through our five year mission." Chekov clenches his fist and unclenches them. Unsurprisingly, it does nothing to relieve his stress. "I… I haven't seen him since the accident."

"What accident?" Cynthia demands.

"Come on," Chekov snaps, suddenly light-headed, "_you _know what accident I'm talking about. Isn't that what you've been maneuvering towards this whole time?"

Cynthia takes a deep breath. "I don't deny that I've been trying to get you to talk about Starfleet," she says calmly, "but I don't know about an accident. Nobody's told me anything, Pavel – certainly not David, since he's off on some mission somewhere and hasn't called in six months."

Chekov gets out of his seat and stalks towards the window. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Cynthia stand, too. "Pavel," she says, voice gentle again, "look. I get that you don't want to talk about whatever accident this is, but trust me when I say that talking about it will probably help."

"Why?"

"David-" Cynthia stops. "He was never the same after he came back from the mission. He was so much quieter. He had nightmares. And he would never tell me what happened."

Chekov watches his reflection in the glass. It stares back at him, skin pallid. shadow of his former self.

"You probably understand," Cynthia says quietly. "I get that maybe you don't want to talk about it. Maybe you think that it's easier to keep all your ghosts to yourself. But I saw what it did to David. I don't want that to happen to you, either."

"You wouldn't understand," Chekov mumbles.

"You ought to give her a try," Uhura says in his ear.

"Try me," Cynthia challenges.

"No," Chekov says to both of them, "it's too much, it's just too _much-_"

"Then let me help you," Cynthia says, coming around to lean against the glass. "I've got my own ghosts too, Pavel. But I've learned to let them go. I'm a happier person for it. And you-"

"And I will be fine," Chekov says through gritted teeth. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Shutting yourself off from the world won't help," Cynthia warns him.

"She's a licensed therapist, man, _listen to her_," Bones says sharply from across the room.

Chekov opens his mouth to say an emphatic _no_, but his knees crumple instead.

The last thing he remembers is an alarmed yelp from Cynthia as he cracks his head against the edge of the chair. And then the world dissolves into a soothing, comforting black.

* * *

Poor Chekov.

Much love,  
ohlookrandom


	16. Chapter 16

Poor Chekov. After rereading my fic, I want to just take him and hug him tight.

Thanks to all who reviewed, followed and favourited - I've been trying to get back to the reviewers personally if you have an account! Sorry if I missed anyone though; a lot's going on right now.

**Marcelle Dupont: **ding ding ding! Yeah, it kind of drifted into my head haha. David, however, will not be showing up personally in the story. You'll kind of find out what happens to him later. But kudos for being so observant ;) And yes, things are DEFINITELY going to get interesting in the next few chapters.

Onwards and upwards, my friends! We are halfway there! Chekov might not be, though.

Disclaimer: But Moooooom~

* * *

"You were supposed to _watch _him." Chekov wakes to Sulu's hissing.

"I _did_. How was I supposed to know that he would catch Mandimese flu?" Scotty's accent is even more pronounced, which inevitably means that the Scotsman is stressed beyond his limits.

"Is that what this is?" a female voice asks, and Chekov recognizes Cynthia's voice through the haze.

"Yeah, unfortunately." Chekov can almost hear the frown in Sulu's voice. "Pavel is particularly vulnerable to it – the last time he got it on the _Enterprise_, it took him out of commission for a month and a half."

"It's not fatal, is it?" Cynthia asks in alarm.

"Fatal? No. He's just gonna be really sickly the next few weeks." There's a rustling. "Here. Antibiotics. I got them from the doctor."

"Is it really contagious?"

"Not really – most of us are immune to Mandimese flu. It's just something in his genes; he gets hit worse than most." There's a thud as someone drops the bottle on the ground. "_Damn_ it."

"He'll be fine, Cynthia. Maybe you should go home," Scotty murmurs.

"I don't know – I feel a little responsible-"

"Unless you straight up injected him with a strain of Mandimese flu, I don't think you are," Sulu says dryly.

"You should have seen him – I've never seen him so agitated. We were talking about the accident."

The room stills, as though all the air has been sucked out of it. Finally, Scotty breaks the silence. "The _Enterprise_? Chekov actually wanted to talk about that?"

"He found out that my brother worked in Starfleet – one thing led to one another." Muffled footsteps make their way to the kitchen. "Bloody hell, Scotty, you didn't tell me that David was on the _Enterprise_."

"Oy, how is this my fault! I've never _met _your brother-"

"Keep your voice down," Sulu hisses just as Chekov sinks back down into sleep.

The next time he wakes, Sulu and Scotty are engaged in a heated whispered conversation over the counter. "You can't just not go to work," Scotty is whispering.

"I don't care. They can fire me if they want-"

"They _will _if you don't show up to your job, lad!"

"I _don't _care. I never wanted to be an accountant anyway; that's what my dad always wanted."

"Then why are you here?"

"Because he needed me, why else?"

A feeling of regret coils in Chekov's stomach – _apparently, I'm not the only one keeping secrets_. The thought makes him moan slightly.

"Why, I think the patient's awake," Scotty says too brightly. "Good morning, Pavel! Rise and shine."

"You're a terrible medic," Sulu says flatly.

"That's why Bones never let him in the med bay," Chekov mumbles. "Can I get some water?"

"Yeah. Here." Sulu shoves a cup at him. "How are you feeling?"

"Like an elephant stepped all over me." Chekov finds just enough strength to turn his head. Scotty is lounging against the counter and Sulu has taken the seat next to him. "How long have I been out?"

"About a day, which is better than the _last _time you got Mandimese flu." Scotty makes a face. "Och, I remember when Spock made that poor cadet mop up the vomit-"

"Speaking of vomit," Sulu says dryly as Chekov retches. He hands Chekov a pail just in time for Chekov to lean over and throw up. "Here – your medicine-"

"Somebody kill me," Chekov groans.

"I don't particularly fancy being convicted of murder," Scotty quips. "You'll be fine in a few weeks anyway."

Chekov groans again.

"We've called your boss," Sulu informs Chekov. "She says that she understands and hopes that you get better soon."

"Well – at least that's what we think she said over all the screaming," Scotty adds.

"Get _out_, you're not helping," Sulu sighs.

Scotty rolls his eyes, pushing himself away from the counter. "Fine. I'm going to go to the store – do you want anything, Pavel?"

"A new immune system," Chekov mumbles, his voice muffled by the blanket pulled over his head.

"Aw, I think they're fresh out of that," Scotty deadpans. "Hikaru? Anything?"

"I think we're out of juice."

"You got it." There's a sound of the door opening and then closing.

"Go to sleep," Sulu tells Chekov. "I'll be here."

"I've slept for a day, I can't sleep anymore," Chekov says from under the woolen blanket.

"When that medication kicks in," Sulu says, "you'll sleep like the dead. Give it a few minutes."

Chekov pulls the blankets off his head to see Sulu sitting on the couch, cradling his screen in his hands. "Can I ask you a question?" he asks.

"You just did, but sure."

"What's on that screen?"

Sulu looks down at it. "Photos?" he says, though it's framed more as a question.

"Yeah, but there are-" Chekov yawns widely. "-videos. What's on the videos?"

"Your birthday videos, I think." Sulu pulls up the folders. "Want to watch them?"

"No," Chekov mumbles, feeling drowsiness start to creep up on him.

"Some other time then, maybe." Sulu puts the screen down and picks up a book instead.

"Hikaru?"

"Hmm?"

"You don't have to stay here," Chekov says, yawning again.

"If I left you alone, you'd probably get worse," Sulu says flatly.

"No, I don't mean-" Chekov tries to stifle one more yawn as his eyes begin to drift shut again. "I don't mean now. I mean, if you want to go back to being a pilot, you should."

"What, like go back to Starfleet?"

But there's no answer. Chekov is already snoring lightly.

* * *

So that's all it is! Flu! What a relief! Nothing too major!

Or is it?

Much love,  
ohlookrandom


	17. Chapter 17

Sorry for the delay, you guys - it's been CRAZY over here the last few days! Here's the next chapter. As always, thank you to everyone who reviewed, favourited, and followed! You guys are the bomb!

Disclaimer: But Daaaad~

* * *

When Chekov drifts back into consciousness, he doesn't find Sulu by his bed. Instead, Cynthia is sitting there, reading a magazine and casually munching on a carrot. "Good morning!" she chirps when Chekov turns over.

"Where's Hikaru?" Chekov mumbles.

"Scotty dragged him out of the apartment. He needed fresh air." Cynthia puts her magazine down, although she takes a huge bite out of her carrot. "Sorry to disappoint you."

Chekov manages a small smile. "So why are you here?"

"Well, for one, Scotty and Sulu refused to leave you alone. They're like protective mama bears, the pair of them. For two, I thought that maybe we could carry on our conversations in your apartment. Maybe you'll be a little more at ease here." Cynthia cracks her knuckles. "Sorry for pushing you the other day, by the way."

"Don't be," Chekov says, staring at the ceiling. "Odds are I probably needed it."

"You _did_," Kirk says from the couch.

Chekov darts his captain a glance and Kirk just smirks at him.

"So I found these lying on the floor," Cynthia says, her tone businesslike. Chekov turns his head to see her holding the beige folder containing the Starfleet applications. "And I couldn't help but look at them-"

"Isn't that an invasion of privacy?"

"-and noticed that you hadn't filled these out at all," Cynthia continues, ignoring Chekov's weak protest. "Haven't changed your mind?"

"Not lately."

"Why not?"

"Because-" Chekov struggles for words, too tired to try and form coherent thoughts around the maelstrom swirling in his mind. "I just – there are too many memories there."

"Tell me about one of them."

"I don't-"

"It doesn't even have to be about the _Enterprise_," Cynthia says. "Just, you know, Starfleet. Or, okay. Let's start with something easier. Tell me about your favourite experience there."

"Tell her about that one time you single-handedly came up with a plan to save us all from the Romulans," Kirk says, staring at the ceiling. Chekov ignores him.

"I'm really tired," Chekov says. "I'm sorry. Do we have to do this now?"

Cynthia sighs. "No. I guess we don't have to."

"Sorry," Chekov mumbles, feeling a little bit guilty. Then an idea pops into his head, somehow managing to struggle through the fog. Glancing around the apartment, his eyes finally land on the screen lying on top of yesterday's newspapers. "Can you get me that screen?" he asks, pointing.

"Sure. Is something important on it?"

"Just a few photos." Chekov turns it on and flicks through it. The hologram pops up, revolving in the darkened room, and Chekov feels the now familiar ache in his chest. "Didn't you want to know about my favourite memory?"

"I thought we weren't talking about that."

"Do you want to talk about it or not?" Chekov asks. Somehow, the drowsiness doesn't seem to make it sound as sharp as he intended it to be.

Cynthia shrugs, though her expression is interested. "Only if you're comfortable, Pavel." She peers at the picture, watching as it revolves slowly in the air. "Who are these people?"

"My family," Chekov says simply.

"Sure looks like it." Cynthia points at Sulu and Scotty. "So apart from these two – who are the rest of them?"

"That's Captain Jim Kirk and Chief Medical Officer Leonard McCoy," Chekov says, pointing to the back. "And this Vulcan right here, that's Commander Spock, and his girlfriend, Nyota Uhura." It feels strange to call them all by their formal name, Chekov thinks, and even stranger to hear their names coming from his mouth. He's long since stopped vocalizing their names in the hopes that they'll come back.

"I thought Vulcans weren't capable of feeling emotions," Cynthia says, finger resting on Spock's face.

Kirk snorts from the couch.

"Commander Spock was different," Chekov explains. "He's half-human, so he had emotions. I mean, they all do, but…"

He thinks back to the times Spock had openly showed emotion. Once, on the bridge when Kirk had agitated him. Another time, down in the engineering room when Kirk had sacrificed himself. The last time he had showed a semblance of emotion was in a bar on Tu'van. Spock was the last crew member to ever openly show affection towards Chekov, but he was also the person who had possibly shown the most interest in Chekov's theories and notes.

Everyone else had a tendency to treat Chekov as a kid; Spock was the only one who took Chekov seriously. Chekov appreciated that about him.

"You miss him," Cynthia says matter-of-factly.

"Well, yeah. I miss all of them." Chekov frowns.

"Such a human sentiment," Spock mutters from where he's materialized next to Kirk.

"Shut up, Spock, he's being nice to you. I certainly wouldn't be." Kirk folds his arms. "Tell her about Uhura," he urges Chekov.

"This is Uhura," Chekov explains, moving his finger to Uhura's smile. "She was in charge of all communications on the ship and was top of her field in linguistics. She was also only a cadet when we served on the _Enterprise_."

"I'm sensing a theme here," Cynthia remarks wryly. "What was she to you?"

Chekov darts a glance to her, startled, but Cynthia makes no move to explain herself.

"I believe, Mr. Chekov," Spock says, "that Dr. Riley is asking you what special relationship you may have had with Nyota."

"She was a friend," Chekov says, thoroughly confused as to whether he's speaking to Spock or Cynthia now.

"Like a sister?" Cynthia probes.

"Something like that."

Cynthia raises an eyebrow but makes no comment. "Okay. What about these two gentlemen arguing in the back here?"

Kirk hoots. "_Gentlemen_! She wouldn't be saying that if she knew you, Bones-"

Chekov doesn't even have to look to know that Bones has appeared. "Shut _up_, Jim," Bones hisses. Chekov wonders, not for the first time, why his ghosts are so realistic and true to life.

"Pavel?" Cynthia probes.

"Sorry." He yawns to cover up his straying attention. "That's what they do all the time. They argue."

"It's just so much fun winding Bones up," Kirk says cheekily.

"If you weren't dead, Jim, I'd stab you with a hypospray."

"Ooooo, violent even in the afterlife-"

"I take it he was highly strung," Cynthia comments, unaware of the ghostly bickering going on behind her.

Chekov can't help but smile at the memory of Bones almost bursting a vein screaming at Sulu and Kirk in the med bay. "Yeah. Doctor McCoy was the sort of man that you knew would always be there for you – unless you stole his food or something."

"Great description," Bones says dryly.

"Quite accurate, Mr. Chekov," Spock agrees.

"What about your captain? He looks like a nice man," Cynthia says, leaning closer and enlarging the picture to focus on Kirk's face. "Dependable."

"He was," Chekov says, and for the first time all conversation, his ghosts say nothing. But something catches in Chekov's throat, and he looks up at the ceiling, blinking away the tears.

Cynthia tears her attention away from the screen to look at her distressed client. "Why are you crying?" she asks gently.

"Because," Chekov says, taking in a shuddering breath, "because – I don't know. He was…"

Cynthia just waits.

"Jim Kirk was the kind of man who you thought could never die." Chekov looks down at his hands. "He made a promise that day the Enterprise blew up. He said he'd be there when I got back, and I just believed him, because he isn't supposed to die and – I don't actually know. I wish I had. Known, that is."

"Would you have stayed?" Cynthia asks.

"I would have."

"Aw, hell-" Kirk is by the foot of Chekov's bed now, guilt on his face. "Pavel, I'm sorry."

"It was the one promise he never kept," Chekov says quietly, staring right at Kirk, not so much an accusation as a blank statement – _you left me alone here and this is what's happened_.

There's silence in the room as Chekov wrestles with his ghosts and Cynthia sits waiting for him to say more. When Chekov says nothing further, she takes a deep breath. "Pavel, I just want to say thank you for sharing this piece of your life with me. I know it must have been hard."

Chekov closes his eyes to stem the tide for a moment. When he opens them again, Kirk, Bones and Spock are gone again, and he can't tell if he feels relief or overwhelming sadness. "Will it help?" he asks in a small voice.

"Well-" Cynthia hesitates. "I'll be quite honest with you, Pavel. Most times it does. Sometimes I wish there were better results." She takes his hand in hers for a moment. "But the important thing is that you didn't shut yourself off again. It's a step in the right direction." She watches Chekov yawn, for real this time, and smiles. "Tired?"

"Just a little," Chekov mumbles, eyes already drifting shut.

"Sleep tight, darling." He feels her pull the blanket further up his body towards his shoulders before hearing her footsteps pad away.

* * *

Mama!Cynthia makes me smile.

Much love,  
ohlookrandom


	18. Chapter 18

Wow, prepping for college really does a number on you. Yikes.

But on the bright side - thanks to everyone who continues to follow this story and support me through it! You really do brighten my day. :)

Although, fair warning - the waterworks may not be over quite yet..._ soon_.

Disclaimer: I'm so sorry, but no.

* * *

It's the middle of the night (he thinks) when he wakes to hear three voices conversing in the living room. "-getting better," Cynthia is saying.

"Really?" Sulu's hopeful tone catches Chekov's attention, putting him on alert.

"That's good news, innit?" Scotty asks.

"He's still got a long way to go," Cynthia says firmly. "But he's not shutting himself off to me, which is a good sign."

"I feel like there's a 'but' coming," Sulu says, caution lacing itself into his tone.

"But there's more to it than that. It's one thing to be able to talk, but if he won't even confront his ghosts at Starfleet…"

"Don't you think you're pushing him a bit soon to be working there?" Sulu asks. "It's taken him almost a year to talk about the people he lost. Won't it take him longer for him to go back?"

"It will if you two still stay here." Cynthia's tone is serious.

"We can't just leave the kid by himself," Scotty says incredulously.

"Scotty, he's getting better. More independent. You can tell - he talks more, doesn't he? You said that yourself-"

"That don't mean we should just up and _leave_," Scotty argues. "Hikaru, tell her what a bloody terrible idea this is."

There's a long pause before Sulu speaks again, his voice low and worried. "I'm with Scotty on this one, Cynthia. I stayed behind for a reason."

"You helped him get back on his feet. I know that. He knows that. But there comes a time when you have to let him go. He needs to learn."

"So you're just going to throw him to the wolves?" Scotty sounds agitated. "Cynthia, the kid lost his whole family in that accident. We're the only ones left that he's got."

"He can't keep leaning on you two forever," Cynthia insists. "He's got to be strong for himself, not for the both of you."

"I don't-" Scotty begins, but Sulu cuts him off.

"Enough. Look, it's late. We're all tired. We can talk about this in the morning, okay? Right now we're all worried and stressed and that won't help anyone, least of all Pavel." A rustling of coats and jackets. "Here's your raincoat, Cynthia."

"I'll see you guys tomorrow," Chekov hears Cynthia say quietly. Scotty doesn't respond, but Sulu says goodnight before the door shuts with a click.

"We can't leave him," Scotty says right off the bat.

"Scotty, go to bed," Sulu sighs.

"I mean it, Hikaru. You can leave if you bloody want, but I'm not going anywhere."

"You left him literally four months after the accident-"

"That was _different_, okay?" Chekov can almost imagine Scotty's frustration laced into the throbbing vein under his jawline. "I didn't know how bad it was for him. I do now."

"Well, she's got a point," Sulu says, tone reasonable and level. "We can't just keep supporting him forever. Eventually he's got to get out and do something for himself, not just for us."

"So we should just – leave?"

"He deserves the chance to live his own life without us," Sulu says. His tone suggests to Chekov that Sulu doesn't like it any more than Scotty does. "But I don't think we should leave until he tells us to, Scotty. We obviously can't just up and go."

"Well, that settles it then. He's never going to tell us to leave."

There's a pause. "He told me to last night," Sulu admits slowly. "He said that if I wanted to, I should go back to Starfleet."

"He's got Mandimese flu. The kid hallucinates."

"I know, but…" Sulu hesitates. "I keep wondering."

"You haven't told him yet, have you? That you quit your job?"

"I'm not telling him until he's better."

Scotty sighs. Through a crack of his eyelids, Chekov can see that the Scotsman's shoulders are hunched, left hand rubbing his forehead. "Christ."

Sulu pats Scotty's shoulder. "No point worrying about it tonight, Scotty. Let's go to bed. We'll talk in the morning."

"I just don't think we should leave," Scotty insists one last time.

Chekov strains to hear Sulu's last answer. "What if it's the only thing we can do?"

* * *

How's everyone doing so far? Good?

Much love,  
ohlookrandom


	19. Chapter 19

This is what I call in my mind: The End of Act II. Act III is soon to come!

A big big BIG thank you to everyone who's followed, favourited and more importantly, reviewed so far! It really makes me so thankful that you guys take the time to leave your honest thoughts on the story. I've said it before but you guys really are part of what makes this experience so enjoyable. So big claps for you guys! :)

Disclaimer: Badabing, badaboom, no I don't own Star Trek but I do own my room.

* * *

{July 2264}

Weeks pass before Sulu and Scotty deem Chekov well enough to finally step out of the apartment. "How does freedom feel?" Scotty asks, shutting the door behind them.

"Fresh," Chekov says, smiling as he catches a whiff of the ocean breeze.

"Fresh like the dust you'll be eating?" Sulu asks cheekily before taking off down the road.

"Come back here!" Chekov sprints after him.

Scotty watches the two of them chase each other down the block, sighing. "It's like I'm the only adult in this household," he mutters, trudging after them and pulling his hood over his head. "I'm getting too old for this."

Chekov makes no move to confront either Sulu or Scotty about their whispered conversations in his living room, figuring that they'd come to him when they're ready. Still, he notices the small changes, like Scotty's tendency to change topics whenever the subject of his traveling came up, or Sulu's increasing amounts of time spent at home. He sees the tiny things that trigger his instincts, demand for instant attention – little details like the rings under Sulu's eyes, or Scotty's knee jerk reactions to the mention of Cynthia's name.

Finally, he understands that for reasons unknown, they're not going to talk about it by themselves, so he takes matters into his own hands. "We need to talk," he says one night over pizza.

"I asked you if you wanted pineapple slices on your pizza – you said you were okay with it," Sulu says around a mouthful. "No complaints."

"The pizza's fine," Chekov says a little impatiently. "Listen. I know Cynthia's been talking to the both of you about my case."

Scotty begins choking on his pizza. Sulu thumps him on the back and calmly agrees, "She may have mentioned a little bit to us."

"Just a little bit," Scotty coughs, grabbing for the water that Chekov hands to him.

"I know she suggested that you two move out," Chekov says quietly.

Scotty and Sulu exchange a glance. "It… may have come up," Sulu says evasively.

"But we're not going to," Scotty rushes to reassure Chekov. "We're not going to just _leave _you again-"

"I think it's a good idea." Chekov takes a bite of his pizza.

Scotty almost chokes on his water again. Sulu grabs the bottle from the spluttering engineer. "I think you should just avoid food and drink for this part of the conversation," he says half-sarcastically to Scotty. "Pavel, are you sure about this?"

Chekov puts his half-eaten slice down. "Listen," he says carefully. "I know I was in a pretty bad place when the _Enterprise _blew up. And I was really angry at you – well, the world in general, I guess."

Sulu thinks back to the withdrawn Chekov that he'd encountered when he returned, and quirks a smile at the understatement.

"But I'm better now," Chekov says. "Not perfect, but better. And I guess I just-"

"-want some space to live your life," Sulu finishes. The corners of his mouth are painted with a tired smile. "I understand, Pavel."

"I don't," Scotty blusters, having recovered from his fit. "You shouldn't listen to everything Cynthia says – did I ever tell you how she almost failed her psychology classes-?"

Chekov laughs. "I believe you, Scotty. But I don't know – I think unorthodox methods have their benefits." His face softens as he adds with a little more seriousness, "I understand that you two have been very protective of me the last few weeks. And you know-" He half-shrugs. "Thanks. But I'm also not a kid anymore."

He has a brief flashback to the first time he'd said that to Scotty, and how empty it had sounded to his ears. Chekov takes heart in the knowledge that the words seem more solid now, as though they take their weight in truth.

"Well-" Scotty sighs, resigned. "Guess I'll have to find me an apartment."

"I'm not kicking you out," Chekov reassures him. "You guys can stay here until you find a place to live or something."

Scotty snorts. "That might be a while – what with the going rates-" He takes the bottle back from Sulu and takes a swig. "Bloody real estate agents – it's the 23rd century and they're _still _blood-suckers." As he stands up from his seat, he drains the bottle in one gulp. "Okay, lads. I'm off to go see Cynthia and deliver this piece of news. No doubt she's gonna gloat about being right, but the effects of that is simply astounding-"

It's Chekov's turn to choke as Sulu points at the door. "Get _out_," he says in a half-joking manner.

"Oy, it's not your house-"

Chekov half-laughs, half-splutters: "Get out!"

"I'm going, I'm going," Scotty sighs dramatically, grabbing his jacket. He throws them a wink as he opens the door. "Don't expect me back tonight, boys."

The door slams shut, leaving both Chekov and Sulu to chuckle to themselves. Finally, Chekov asks the question he's been wanting to ask for weeks now: "Did you really quit your job at the firm?"

Sulu's hands begin drumming nervously on his knee. "Yeah."

"Why?" Chekov asks, innocently taking a bite out of his pizza.

"It just didn't feel right." Sulu shrugs, not looking at Chekov. "I'll find another one soon enough."

"Hikaru," Chekov says in a tone that says _quit lying to me, I know you better_. Sulu winces when he remembers that Chekov isn't seventeen and he can't lie to his face anymore. "Why'd you really do it?"

Sulu pauses, wondering how much Chekov should know. "It just… I'm not cut out to be an accountant," he admits. "I love flying. I learned how to be a pilot and a helmsman. I'm not born to be behind a desk, working with numbers that don't make sense in my head."

"So why'd you take the job?"

Sulu darts him a glance, and Chekov stills when he realizes, putting down his pizza on the plate. "Oh."

"Yeah." Sulu looks down at his fingers. "You needed me to stay, and I couldn't just sit around doing nothing, so… I took the job. It's not like I didn't have a degree or anything."

There's a dry taste in Chekov's mouth and it almost tastes like sandpaper. "You should have said something."

"Nah," Sulu says, reaching for another bottle of water. "You had your own problems. I wasn't going to burden you with mine."

"Go back to Starfleet." The words tumble from Chekov's mouth without him really thinking about it.

"You know, you said that the first week you were down with the flu-"

"Yeah, but I'm not suffering from the flu now and I'm not hallucinating. Go back to Starfleet." Chekov wipes his fingers down on a napkin and reaches for Sulu's communicator.

"I quit, remember?" Sulu asks calmly.

"They'll take you back. You're Hikaru Sulu and you're one of their best." Chekov hands Sulu the communicator, number already programmed into it.

Sulu eyes Chekov. "You sure you're okay with this?" he asks, skepticism in his tone.

"Positive." Chekov smiles at Sulu. He doesn't say: _it'll assuage the guilt_.

Sulu considers him for a moment before putting the communicator away. "I'll go in first thing tomorrow morning," he promises. "The admirals will probably still see me, I've still got friends on that board."

"Good." Chekov turns to put his plate away.

"Where are you going?"

"To fill out some last details on these forms," Chekov says, reaching for the beige folder in the drawer. "Can I ask you a favour?"

"Yeah..."

Chekov finishes scribbling and hands Sulu the folder with a flourish. "When you go in tomorrow – can you hand this in for me?"

Sulu opens the folder and grins when he sees the completed application for a teaching position in Starfleet. "You're doing this?"

Chekov sits back down opposite him. "To moving on," he says, raising a glass.

"Cheers to that." They clink glasses. And for once, Chekov feels all right with the world again.

* * *

But what happens now? Any guesses?

Much love,  
ohlookrandom


	20. Chapter 20

Hi all! Sorry for the hiatus. Oh my God, life is just a whirlwind right now.

As always - thank you thank you THANK YOU for everything. Every little bit means so much to me, that you care enough to follow this story and take this journey with me. I'm sure Chekov is very grateful as well. Without you guys there would essentially be no story.

So without further ado, ACT III.

Disclaimer: Hahahahahaha.

* * *

{August 2264}

"First year anniversary's coming up."

Cynthia looks up from the book she's reading. "Pavel, darling, I don't think that's quite right. We started in, what, May?"

Chekov laughs a little. "Not you. I mean the _Enterprise_."

"Oh." Cynthia shuts her book and leans forward in her chair. "Want to talk about it?"

"Well-" Chekov hesitates. "Not really."

Cynthia shrugs. "That's fine."

"But I have to, don't I?" Chekov finishes.

"Not if you don't want to, Pavel. We won't do it if you don't feel comfortable."

"Or if you manipulate me into talking about it," Chekov counters.

"Or that. Don't worry though, I'm good at that. You won't see it coming." Cynthia winks before taking up her book again. Chekov smiles slightly and goes back to drawing in his notepad.

Eventually, he breaks the silence again. "Apartment's a little quieter now that Sulu and Scotty are gone."

"I'd imagine it to be," Cynthia says from behind her book. "You liking it?"

"It feels lonely," Chekov admits. "But not terribly lonely like a year ago. Some days are better than others."

"Well, that's good." Cynthia puts her book down again, thoughtfully rapping her pen against her pursed lips. "How _is _Sulu doing?"

"I don't know," Chekov says honestly. "The last I heard from him was almost two weeks ago – he was heading off on some diplomatic mission. He's supposed to be back soon."

"He'd be a good diplomat," Cynthia remarks.

"He could be," Chekov agrees, choosing not to mention the times Sulu and Kirk had to be forcibly beamed back to the ship because they'd inevitably broken some social conduct on the planet. Like the time they'd tried to wrestle a giant bear monster on Pandorica, not knowing that it was the natives' sacred bear.

Chekov has to press his fingers against the corners of his mouth to stop them from twitching at the memory. "How's Scotty finding apartment hunting?" he asks to change the subject.

"He's having a rough time of it, as you might expect," Cynthia says. "Poor man can't negotiate to save his life. Though I daresay he's enjoying living with me." Cynthia turns the page. "You guys going to do anything when he gets back?"

"No," Chekov says. "Just-"

His answer is cut short by a pounding on the door. Cynthia leaps up as the locked doorknob begins to jiggle frantically. "Who is it?" she yells as Chekov looks about for something to defend them with.

"For God's sakes, it's me!" Scotty's voice floats through the wooden door. "Open this bloody thing up – there's been a problem-"

Scotty streaks across the room the moment Cynthia opens it, eyes wild and crazed with terror. "Look," he babbles, pointing out the window, "look-"

Chekov follows Scotty's pointing finger to a column of smoke rising in the distance, black and deadly. A cold fear sets in Chekov's spine at the memory of black smoke curling up from Khan's ship almost six years ago, and the consequences it had had for the team. And then his mind flashes back to a year ago, when black smoke had coiled underneath the Enterprise.

"What's happened?" he asks, and is surprised by how calm he sounds.

"I don't know," Scotty says, his breath coming in short gasps. "I just ran here the moment I heard it-"

"We didn't hear anything," Cynthia says.

"Your glass is soundproof, of course you didn't hear a damn thing."

Chekov continues to watch the smoke twist into the air, a deadly reminder of all the times he'd brushed fingers with Death and how someone had always paid the iron price for it. "Is it a Starfleet ship?" he asks.

"That's what the rumours are saying."

"Pavel," Cynthia says, understanding before Chekov even solidifies the idea in his mind, "it doesn't mean anything, it doesn't mean that he's-"

"Call Sulu," Chekov says, his voice still unnaturally composed.

"I've tried, lad, but he's not picking up-"

"Try again-"

Just then, Scotty's communicator begins to vibrate. All three of them stare at it for a moment before Scotty hits the button. "Montgomery Scott," he says with a false sense of calm.

Chekov turns away from him, not wanting to read Scotty's expression and know the worst. Cynthia follows him, watching gingerly as Chekov begins biting a fingernail. She doesn't say anything; for this, Chekov is grateful.

"Duly noted. Thank you, Admiral." Scotty hangs up.

"Well?" Chekov asks.

"They tried reaching you, lad, but you weren't home. Apparently, Sulu said to call you if anything happened to him-"

Chekov lets out a sound that sounds like a choked whine and Cynthia glares at Scotty.

"Nothing's happened to him," Scotty says hastily. "At least, nothing concrete, Pavel, they just haven't found him yet, they're still looking-"

"GET OUT," Cynthia yells at him.

Scotty scuttles from the room without another word.

"Pavel," Cynthia says, taking his wrists in her hands. "Pavel, look at me."

"He's not dead," Chekov says, his voice garbled by the emotions fighting to keep themselves contained.

"He's not. He's _not_." Cynthia forces him to look her straight in the eyes. "Listen to me. It's going to be okay."

Chekov nods, his eyes stormy with all the memories lashing inside his head. "I'm going to go home," he says, his voice tight.

"I can come with you," Cynthia says, genuinely worried as to whether Chekov is heading for another implosion.

"No – don't." Chekov grabs his jacket and leaves. Just like that. No goodbye, no assurances of his being okay.

Cynthia watches him go, wincing as the door shuts gently by itself. Somehow, it would make her feel better if he had slammed it, some sort of signal that he was frustrated, angry. Even a semblance of emotion would tell her that he was functional.

But she can't tell now if he's shutting her out and withdrawing into himself, or if this is just his natural reaction to things. She can't tell, and that scares her more than if he had lost it completely.

* * *

Kudos to those who ventured a guess, whether in the reviews box or in my inbox - you guys were close! I can't promise anything else though.

Much love,  
ohlookrandom


	21. Chapter 21

D; I am very sorry for once again putting everyone through the wringer! Starfleet really needs to make sure their security is better so things like this don't happen. Or maybe the crew of the _Enterprise _is just cursed.

You will find out what happens to Sulu soon. Longish chapter ahead, though.

Thank you for all the reviews, follows and favourites as always!

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek.

* * *

The days go by without any real updates from Starfleet. Chekov calls everyday on the dot at six p.m. when he knows Admiral En'Faiz is off duty. "Any news of Sulu?" he'd asked the moment En'Faiz came to the phone, alerted by a nervous secretary that a man named Pavel Chekov was on the line and demanding to speak to him.

"No, Mr. Chekov. I'm afraid not." En'Faiz is aware of Chekov; of course he is, he'd been the one to process Hikaru Sulu's sudden resignation, he'd been the one to ask for answers as to why Starfleet's new captain had suddenly given up something he was so clearly _good _at. His line of questioning had led to the report on the _Enterprise_ attack, and then it had led to background checks, and then he'd understood without saying anything else and had simply signed off on Sulu's temporary resignation.

He was also Sulu's friend. It was why Chekov had called him and him alone. In a way, he supposes he understands. So he never loses his patience with the endless demands for information, only ever pacifying and soothing as much as he can.

At home, Chekov paces like a caged animal. Scotty hovers the first few days, unsure as to what to do – leave, go, stay – but he makes sure that for those critical first hours, Chekov eats, sleeps, and drinks like a normal person. "I can't just leave him," he says to Cynthia one night when she comes over to check on a sleeping Chekov. "Don't make me leave him, not now."

Eventually, Chekov calms down enough to tell Scotty that he can stop hovering like a mother hen. Scotty nods uncertainly, not wanting to leave Chekov; but he finally does, and makes sure to give Chekov a hug that's a little tighter and longer than usual. He notes that Chekov does not pull away.

Cynthia comes over every other day that Scotty isn't with Chekov; she's the one to make sure that the fridge is stocked, the dishwasher is emptied and the trash is removed. Chekov never says anything more to her than 'thank you' as he keeps his eyes glued to the television or his ear stuck to the news channel.

"What happened?" Cynthia finally asks Scotty one night as they sit in the diner opposite Chekov's apartment, watching his shadow pace across the room. "Do you have anything on the attack?"

"Not anything solid – I'm not Starfleet personnel no more so I'm not keyed in, but Keenser's heard some rumours." Scotty pushes his pasta around on his plate. "It sounds like there was some diplomatic conference with the Choshans that went wrong – and they attacked the visiting fleet as a result."

"But the crash in San Francisco?"

"Some Choshan general launched an attack before he was stopped entirely, I guess." Scotty pushes his plate away. "I can't eat. I know I'm supposed to – I want to – but I can't."

"Scotty-"

"All I can think of is the poor kid. He lost his entire family and now he's lost his best mate."

"Sulu's not dead," Cynthia says firmly.

"Not officially, no," Scotty says, defeat written across his face. "But there's an unwritten code in Starfleet – two weeks missing, and you're essentially a goner. A month in and they stop looking for you. Two months in and your name is in a bloody obituary." He rubs his eyes, exhaustion etched in the wrinkles around his forehead and lines around his mouth. "The way to go in Starfleet is to do it with some flair. It gives everyone closure. Captain Kirk did that right, at least."

"Sulu's not dead," Cynthia repeats, reaching over for Scotty's hand. "You've got to believe that. If not for yourself, at least for Pavel."

Scotty lifts his eyes to rest on Chekov's shadow, standing by the drawn curtains with slumped shoulders. "The question is, does the kid believe that himself?"

Three weeks pass. Chekov stops calling En'Faiz, and doesn't answer when the latter tries to call him back. Scotty takes to making himself a spare key because Chekov doesn't answer the door anymore. Cynthia is alarmed to find that Chekov is still eating, drinking, functioning like a normal human being – but his eyes are always focused on somewhere else, dark and stormy.

"He's shutting down again," she says to Scotty. "I'm worried."

Scotty offers to move back in. Chekov says no. They both know what he really means: _I want to be alone_.

The nights are quiet and cold now that it's September, a year and a month after the first attack. Chekov quits his job. His boss nods understandingly and he doesn't miss that she gives him fifty percent more than what he deserves. He makes sure to leave the extra money in the tip jar.

Chekov spends his nights watching the television screen as it replays old movies from the twenty-first century. He watches with diminishing horror as the news replay the agonizingly slow footage of the ship debris crashing into the Bay. It doesn't alarm him anymore; he knows that's not Sulu's ship. But with that understanding comes a newer question: _then where is Sulu_?

That question keeps him up at night. He resorts to taking pills again, but eventually they stop working. Finally, Bones comes to him three weeks, three days and twenty-two hours after the news first came to him. "Kid," he says, his voice ragged, "you can't keep doing this to yourself."

"Doing what?" Chekov turns the empty pill bottle over in his hand.

"Damn it, Chekov, you know what I'm talking about." Bones sits down on the coffee table and stares at Chekov. "Stop beating yourself up for this."

"I told him to go back to Starfleet," Chekov says.

"That isn't your fault," Kirk says from where he's appeared next to Bones. "You know what else isn't your fault, Pavel? Us dying."

"Yeah, that was all Jim," Bones deadpans.

"Actually," Spock says out of nowhere, "if we were to assign some fault, we would most likely assign it to the Klingons."

"Shut _up_, I'm trying to be serious here." Kirk glares at his two senior officers.

"Forgive us, Captain. That is a sentiment we are unused to hearing from you." Spock inclines his head, a tell that Chekov recognizes as the Vulcan equivalent of snark. Bones only snickers and Kirk's expression grows darker.

"He's not dead, Pavel," a familiar voice says, and Chekov blinks to see Uhura perched on his bed, her legs drawn up to her chin. "You'd know if he was dead."

"Yeah, he'd be here with, well – us." Kirk blinks.

"I just – I've screwed it all up. I thought I was getting better, but this – this sucks, okay? Life is unfair and I hate it." Chekov swings his legs out of the bed. "Go away."

His ghosts follow him. "It's not your fault," Bones says.

"Go _away_."

"Mr. Chekov-" Spock begins, but Chekov loses it just then, nerves jagged and thin from three weeks of not knowing.

"No! I don't want to hear the damn odds or statistics that you've calculated, Spock. Numbers don't comfort me. What do you know, anyway? You're all dead. You're all _dead_!" The last word is screamed as Chekov hurls the empty pill bottle across the room. It hits the wall and rattles noisily as it tumbles to the ground.

Chekov grips the corners of the counter, feeling his temples pound white hot with an insane swelling of rage. Everything pulses when he looks at it; if he focuses, he can see the shimmering outlines of himself and Sulu a month ago, sitting in front of the television set, clinking glasses and making a toast to a new future. He throws a fork at the outlines. They disappear, but he feels no satisfaction.

His heartbeats increase in his ears until they're a frenzied chorus of pounding drums and suddenly Chekov can't breathe. He sees someone move in front of him – Uhura is trying to get him to look at her. Her mouth is moving – Chekov tries to hear her, but the wild pounding is drowning out all the sounds around him. _Breathe_, she seems to be saying desperately. _Breathe_.

Bones appears behind her, miming taking in a deep breath. Chekov locks his eyes on the doctor, following his breaths, counting to three before letting it out slowly. Everything begins to slow for him as the drums taper off and his muscles relax. "-that's it," Bones is saying as the sounds of the real world drift around Chekov again; "That's it, kid. Come on, stay with me."

"You're not real," Chekov gets out through gritted teeth.

"I know I'm not real, damn it," Bones says sharply. "But that doesn't mean that I don't care."

"Maybe you need to move on," Kirk says quietly. "It won't do you any good if we're always here, Pavel."

There's a gnawing desperation in Chekov's stomach. "You're the only thing I have left of you," he says, not sure if that sentence makes any sentence to anyone but him.

"I would posit that that is an incorrect assumption, Mr. Chekov," Spock says from the coffee table. He looks down at Sulu's screen, still propped on some magazines. "I believe that there is still one thing left."

"The videos?" Chekov blurts, looking down to steady himself. "I'm not… I don't think I'm ready."

There is no answer. He looks up to realize that all the ghosts are gone again.

* * *

Stay tuned.

Much love,  
ohlookrandom


	22. Chapter 22

Some feels ahead, though maybe not quite as much as previous chapters! We will find out soon what happened to Sulu, I promise.

Inspired partly by _Charlie Bartlett_, which all of you should watch because Anton Yelchin is AMAZING in that film. Also, it has Robert Downey Jr. and Kat Dennings in. So now all I can see whenever I watch that movie is Chekov running around and flirting with Darcy Lewis and getting told off by Iron Man. It is literally the strangest thing.

Thank you once again to everyone who reviewed, and as always, continual apologies for the intense feels :(

Really though if Starfleet had better security...

Disclaimer: I do not own _Star Trek _or anything affiliated with it.

* * *

{September 2264}

Chekov dreams in the weeks after the attack on the Federation fleet. Snatches of memory flash by him – a laugh, a smile, a simple word of praise delivered in a serious Vulcan manner. He sees things that he wishes he didn't remember with such vividness, like the way the third light in his room on the _Enterprise_ always flickered for the first five minutes, or the way his fingers felt so… right moving across the smooth, silver plated console.

Sometimes he sees things that he knows he wasn't there for. One night, he wakes, screaming for Bones and Kirk and Spock and Uhura as everything lights up in a brilliant ball of orange, and it takes him a while before he is able to calm himself down. He dreams of Kirk's last words on the bridge before his death – they change every night and Chekov always wakes with a jerk, wishing that he knew what the actual words were. Bones is always screaming "no", the last word Chekov ever heard from him. And Spock and Uhura – he doesn't know where they were in their last moments, but he always sees Uhura curled up in Spock's arms, facing their death squarely in the face. Spock would be protecting Uhura, of course, but she would take it head-on just like he would. Strong to the very last.

He dreams of Sulu, of course, dreams of his friend desperately ordering evasive maneuvers, possibly shoving the pilot aside and doing it himself. There's a night when he imagines Sulu turning to him with all the sorrow ever experienced drowning in his eyes and saying softly, "Sorry." _I never meant to leave you._ It always ends like this – Sulu making a promise Chekov knows he can't keep before everything cuts to black, words lingering like an audio track on repeat.

The ghosts do not come back in these days; they stay away even though Chekov turns, half-expecting Bones or Kirk to be standing there, watching him protectively with words of reproach on their lips. Uhura does not sit by his bedside when he wakes screaming for her comforting touch. Spock's tone does not recite odds and numbers for Chekov, and Chekov comes to realize that he misses it, that it did offer him some comfort in the crushing silence.

Finally, one day, he finds it in himself to pull up the videos on Sulu's screen. It happens so suddenly; he wakes up in the dead of night just knowing that he wants to, that he needs to, that there's something in there he should see. The first video he selects is from Uhura, laughing at something off screen before realizing that somebody is filming her. "Oh, God. Why didn't you _tell_ me?" she says, and somebody laughs. Chekov recognizes that laugh, and feels his heart clench because Sulu's behind the camera.

"Anyway," Uhura says, lights glowing bright in her eyes, "happy birthday, Pavel! I can't believe you're already twenty-two; you're an adult, my God. Where has all the time gone?"

Sulu quips something about her sounding old, and Uhura throws her head back and laughs, hair swinging around her shoulders. "Yeah, sure, I guess I could be considered old. Whatever. Happy birthday, Pavel. You keep on smiling."

The next video is Spock, who looks characteristically uncomfortable with a camera in his face. "You wish me to do what?" he asks. "Film a video? I do not see the logic behind this act – I will wish Mr. Chekov myself when I see him on shift-"

"Oh, for God's sakes," Bones says in an irritated voice off camera, "Mr. Sulu just explained the whole thing to you, Spock. It's a present."

"I do not understand. Is this a human tradition?"

"He's screwing with you, Bones, don't rise to the occasion," Kirk says from off-camera as well. Spock merely quirks a quick smile.

Sulu is laughing, but he manages to keep things under control. "So any words for Mr. Chekov, Commander?"

"Indeed." Spock looks right into the camera. "I wish you a very happy birth-day, Mr. Chekov. You have come far for an average human being and ought to be highly commended for your work."

"That it?" Sulu asks.

"Do you wish me to say more?"

Evidently not, because the video cuts to Bones and Kirk, the former looking rather ticked-off at Kirk's arm slung around his neck. "Chekov!" Kirk hollers. "Happy birthday, kid! I can't believe you're freaking _twenty-two_, remember when he was seventeen, Bonesy?"

"I still think a kid had no business being on the _Enterprise_," Bones grumbles. Still, his face softens when he looks at the camera. "Glad you were, though. Happy birthday, kiddo. Can't wait to see what kind of man you're gonna become."

"Hopefully much more fun than Bones," Kirk says cheerfully.

"And hopefully smarter than Jim – though I think you've already got that down," Bones snarks.

"What's that supposed to mean, Bones?" Jim's voice fades into the background noise as he and Bones begin to launch into another one of their arguments and the camera spins to Scotty and Keenser.

"Aye, is it my turn?" Scotty hiccups. "Damn it, stage fright. Keenser, you take over-"

But Keenser, easily panicked by the camera, scuttles across the room.

"_Damn it_," Scotty coughs. "Sorry. Give me a few minutes."

"I told you not to down the whole bottle in one go," Sulu's voice says from behind the camera.

"Yeah, but it's a party!" Scotty coughs one last time before straightening up. "Ahem. Hmm. Erm. What's this for again?"

"Birthday wishes for Chekov," Sulu says, tone amused.

"Ah. Yes. Right. Well." Scotty clears his throat. "Happy birthday, lad. You're not a bad hand to have down in engineering, ya know, you should come down sometime and don a red shirt. Although you really have to stop telling Cupcake what to do, he doesn't really like being told-"

Sulu coughs meaningfully.

"Ah, right," Scotty corrects himself. "Happy birthday, lad. It's been fun working with you. I still think your transporter theory is wrong!"

The final video is of Sulu sitting in his room, fiddling with the camera. "Happy birthday, Pavel," he says, smiling as he sits back on his heels. "You won't get this for a while because God knows what Kirk has us doing after your birthday celebration – something about the Dolal system – but when you do, I hope you remember how much we like you." He winks. "I know you _hate _being the youngest, but I think Uhura needs someone to mother. Don't quit anytime soon, I don't think I'm used to working with another navigator just quite yet. So…happy birthday, and I'll see you later." Sulu reaches over and the screen goes black.

It's then that Chekov feels something wet drip onto his open palms, and he feels with some surprise the moisture slipping down his cheek. He angrily paws it away before standing up and shutting off the screen, pacing to the window where he watches the rain drip onto the quiet San Francisco street.

A sudden impulse hits him, and he acts immediately. Throwing open his window, he sticks his head out and screams: "HELLO!"

It echoes off the brownstone buildings, ricochets across windows and doors. Chekov imagines it hitting the ground and shooting up into the stars, where his family is, and maybe Sulu will hear it, wherever the hell he is, and he'd know that Chekov wasn't giving up hope, not this time -

As lights begin to turn on all down the street, Chekov slides his window closed and collapses on his bed. He realizes he's laughing, but he's crying, too, and that's how he falls asleep, caught in the border between letting go and grief.

* * *

Much love,  
ohlookrandom


	23. Chapter 23

Sorry for the delay, guys! Here's a new chapter for all your patience :)

Big thank yous to everyone, as always!

Disclaimer: Nah.

* * *

{October 2264}

Cynthia and Scotty don't expect the timid knock on their door on a foggy October morning. San Francisco is back to about as normal as it gets, operating at its usual metropolitan pace; but this office is scarred and on edge, and with good reason. Scotty glances at Cynthia: "Expecting anyone?" he asks.

"No," Cynthia says in surprise.

Scotty shrugs. "Maybe one of your other boyfriends," he quips with a touch of humour.

"They're not quite as courteous as you to knock first," Cynthia says right back.

Scotty laughs, but the laugh dies several notes in when he swings open the door to reveal a drenched Chekov standing outside, shivering. "What the bloody _hell_, Pavel? Why are you dripping wet?"

"Forgot an umbrella," Chekov gets out through the chattering of his teeth.

"Scotty, get out of the way and let him in," Cynthia says in some alarm, scrambling for the thermostat and upping the temperature a few degrees. "There should be a towel in that bag over there-"

"What is wrong with you?" Scotty is demanding at Chekov as he roots through Cynthia's duffel bag. Chekov gratefully accepts the cup of warm tea that Cynthia hands him, thus missing the towel that Scotty flings over his shoulder and narrowly avoiding getting hit in the face.

"Scotty," Cynthia scolds. "_Behave_."

"What do you bloody expect me to say when he shows up in your office dripping wet?" Scotty wants to know. "You could have gotten pneumonia, lad, and we all know that that's worse than Mandimese flu when it comes to you-"

"I got the job," Chekov blurts.

"-I can't have you out there getting yourself killed-" Scotty stops in his tracks as Cynthia's hands fly to her mouth. "You got the job?"

"As an instructor in Starfleet." Chekov's teeth are chattering, but he manages a small smile. "I got the call just now – I thought I wanted you two to be the first to know."

"You got the job," Scotty repeats, a grin spreading across his weathered face. "You got the bloody job! Well, I _never_."

"Congratulations, darling!" Cynthia pulls him in for a hug. "This calls for some celebration – Scotty, hand me the bubbly-"

"Are you even allowed to have alcohol in your office?" Chekov asks in alarm.

"No. But when has the law ever stopped me?" Cynthia winks at him as Scotty pops the cork and pours her a glass.

Scotty's in the middle of pouring himself a glass of champagne when Chekov's communicator begins to vibrate loudly. "Best get that, lad, they're probably promoting you already," he snorts, putting the bottle behind the desk.

"Sure, they're probably calling to tell me I'm the department head," Chekov deadpans, putting aside his glass before hitting 'answer'. "Pavel Chekov, speaking, sir. Yes, Admiral. Thank you…"

"I wouldn't put it past them," Cynthia drawls, taking a sip from her glass. "From what I've heard of his theories, they sound even better than yours."

"Ay! Watch your tongue, lass."

"Make me," Cynthia retorts, sticking it out at him.

"Don't tempt me, Cynthia." But the sight of Chekov's rapidly paling face suddenly diverts Scotty's attention. "Pavel?"

Cynthia leaps up, already seamlessly seguing into concerned mother figure as she puts her glass of champagne aside. "What's wrong?" she asks.

Chekov holds up a finger to stop them from asking any further questions. Even from a distance, Scotty can see the white knuckles and shaking fingers. "Duly noted, Admiral. Thank you for…" He coughs on the last word and Scotty moves in protectively. "…calling. Yes, sir, I'll be there soon."

"Is everything okay?" Scotty asks when Chekov hangs up. "You can't have already been fired, can you?"

Cynthia doesn't even have time to glare at him before Chekov turns around, face ashen and terrified. "They've found Sulu," he says, his voice jagged and torn. "The Admiral says it's not good – he's in emergency surgery-"

"Bloody hell," Scotty swears. He grabs Chekov's jacket and throws it at him as Chekov makes a move for the door. "I'm coming too! Wait. Don't forget your jacket."

"I don't need one," Chekov shouts over his shoulder as he breaks into a sprint.

"Don't you dare tell me that," Scotty shouts back, tearing after him and waving the jacket over his head like a madman. "Put the damn jacket on, Pavel; if you die from pneumonia Sulu will _kill _me."

That stops Chekov in his tracks; he bends over double as though he is winded. Scotty catches easily up to him. "You usually run faster than that," he's about to say before he realizes how desperately Chekov is wheezing for breath, as though somewhere along the way he's lost his breath and is sprinting to get it back. Scotty realizes with some alarm that this is a panic attack; Cynthia's told him about it before and he doesn't know what triggers it but _hell _if he just stands around and does nothing.

"Alright, Pavel, look at me," he says firmly. Chekov raises pained eyes to him as he tries to suck in a deep breath. "You've got to calm down."

The look Chekov gives him could be described as scathing.

"Okay," Scotty says, "if you're giving me attitude then you're better than you think. Listen to me. Sulu isn't dead. Okay? Nod if you agree with me."

Chekov's eyes squeeze shut as he tries to take another breath, but he nods.

"They've found him," Scotty says. "That's a hell of a better thing than three weeks ago." He grabs Chekov's shoulders. "Hang in there. Breathe."

There's a clatter and both men look over to see Cynthia hastily scooping up her keys. "What?" she asks when she sees the both of them looking at her. "I'll drive. What were you going to do – run there?"

"That was the plan," Chekov manages to get out, clutching Scotty's shoulder tightly.

"Well," Scotty says as firmly as he can, looping an arm under Chekov's scrawny shoulder, "we've got a new plan. Come on, lad. We'll do this together."

"Scotty."

"Hm?"

"Thanks."

* * *

WE FOUND SULU. Or did we?

Much love,  
ohlookrandom


	24. Chapter 24

Sorry for the long delay guys! It's been a madhouse over here. I never thought I'd say this but I can't wait for school to start up again and everything to die down on this end-there's just so much to _do_!

In other news, thank you once again for all the comments, favourites, and follows. You guys really are so supportive and I can't thank you enough.

Disclaimer: NOOOOooooOOOOO

* * *

The nurses are supremely unhelpful when they get to the hospital – _damn twenty-third century and they act like they've got sticks shoved up their ass_, Scotty mutters – and so the three of them are forced to sit outside the swinging doors in the waiting room. Cynthia is the only one able to keep still; Chekov and Scotty both pace. Scotty rants and raves about the system and how unjustified this waiting is, but Chekov paces and stalks the hallways in silence, hands laced tightly behind his back. Cynthia watches him as he deliberately measures his steps up and down the narrow, long hallway, curls damp with cold sweat and rain.

"He'll be okay, right?" she asks Scotty at some point.

"Sulu'll be fine. He's gotten into worse scrapes with Jim Kirk."

"Not Sulu. Pavel." Cynthia nods with her chin at Chekov, who's exhausted himself from all the nervous walking and is currently asleep on a chair.

"I don't know," Scotty says honestly. He leaves it at that. Cynthia doesn't dare ask further.

Finally, six hours into waiting, a nurse comes out into the room. "Pavel Chekov?"

Chekov is awake in an instant, eyes alert and legs jerking to attention. "That's me," he says, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. "Is Hikaru-"

"Come with me, Mr. Chekov, please," the nurse says quietly, and Scotty feels his stomach clench with nerves.

Chekov looks back at him. "Only if they get to come with me," he says. Scotty wonders if he really is that calm as he sounds.

"Only family members or emergency contacts are allowed-"

"Please," Chekov begs, and there's still a hint of the seventeen year old within him that screams how vulnerable he is. "They're my family."

She hesitates, but finally relents, stepping backwards and holding the doors a little bit wider. "Very well, Mr. Chekov. Please come with me."

Their footsteps lead them down clinically white hallways, echoing off shiny tiles and coming back with haunting echoes of _this is how people die_. Scotty shudders, remembering how he used to hate the clinical white of the _Enterprise_, and how the noisy, chaotic nature of the engineering room had always been more of his domain. Kirk had found this out one day when he'd come to visit Scotty:

"Why don't you ever stay up on the bridge?" he'd wanted to know, biting into an apple as he perched on a railing.

Scotty had snorted. "Be up there where I feel like I'm in a hospital? No, thank you, sir. I like it down here in the heart of the ship."

"You don't like it because it… feels like a hospital?"

"Too clean, sir. I like everything to be the way God intended for it to be – dirty and functional." Then Scotty had noticed Kirk swinging his legs on the railing. "Oy! Get off! It's not for climbing!"

The next time he'd gone up to the bridge (at Kirk's insistence), the white of the ship had been replaced with a sleeker silver. Still clinical, but an improvement nonetheless. Scotty smiles wistfully. Kirk had always known instinctively what his crew needed. It was a skill he wished he'd possessed.

It was a skill that would probably have helped with Chekov. Scotty watches from the back as Chekov follows the nurse, fists lightly curled and half-shoved into his jacket pockets – Scotty is willing to bet that if he gave Chekov a napkin now, it would be shredded into tiny little pieces by the time they got to their destination. The kid is no doubt terrified, and Scotty wishes he could say the right things to make him feel better.

But before he can say anything, the nurse delivers them into a larger waiting room, where a big man is waiting by another set of doors. "Mr. Chekov," he greets, rising to his feet in one fluid motion. He notices Cynthia and Scotty and bows slightly to them, skin rippling under the glaring lights. "Mr. Scott, I presume. And your name, ma'am?"

"Cynthia Riley, sir."

"Delighted," the man says. "I am Admiral En'Faiz of the Federation Board. Would you please come with me?"

"Is he okay?" Scotty blurts. He sees Chekov shoot him a grateful look.

En'Faiz pauses for what seems like an unreasonably long time. "Physically, yes," he says at last. "Captain Sulu's vitals are expected to go back to normal in a few weeks."

"But…" Cynthia prompts.

En'Faiz darts a glance behind him. "But it appears that he has retreated mentally," he says, his voice dropping to a whisper. "He was barely alive when we retrieved him from the Choshans, and although we have brought him back, it appears that they may have left more scars than we thought."

"Mentally?" Scotty repeats incredulously. "Retreated _mentally_? How the bloody hell-"

"The Choshans are psychics, Mr. Scott," En'Faiz says, finally letting them through the doors. "And Captain Sulu was a prisoner of war for a month. No doubt they tortured him for information."

"And… did they get it?" Chekov asks, his voice quiet.

"As far as we are aware, they did not, Mr. Chekov."

"So they tortured him…" Chekov says, looking through the window. "And they didn't get anything?"

"That is correct."

"He went through hell and back," Chekov says softly, more to himself than to anyone. "No wonder he won't wake up."

Scotty briefly wonders if Chekov is talking about Sulu or himself, but is distracted by the admiral's clearing of his throat. "There is one other matter that I feel must be brought to your attention, Mr. Chekov."

Chekov doesn't face the admiral. He just waits, still watching Sulu's chest rise in shallow breaths.

En'Faiz pulls up a screen. "We were able to compile a list of eyewitness reports and pull records from Captain Sulu's ship."

"Great," Chekov says listlessly.

If the admiral is perturbed by the lack of decorum, he doesn't show it. "Eyewitnesses report that the ship was damaged – the Choshans deliberately targeted the rear left sector of the ship."

_Rear left – _Scotty knows what that is. "The escape pods?"

"Indeed. It appears that the Choshans were intent on destroying all Starfleet ships as a symbol of their defiance." En'Faiz pulls up another list. "Yet there is a long list of survivors from the _Enterprise_."

"Why are you telling me this?" Chekov asks.

"Because Captain Sulu offered himself up as a sacrifice," En'Faiz says simply. "He offered himself in the hopes that the Choshans would take him and leave his crew alone."

Chekov doesn't know if he should laugh or cry. _Such a Jim Kirk move. _

"But the pods," Scotty says, still puzzled. "They were damaged, and the reports show that the ships were brutally destroyed. How are there so many survivors still?"

"A very fair point, Mr. Scott." En'Faiz pulls up more numbers. "As it turns out, before he voluntarily left the ship, Captain Sulu ordered an evacuation of all members via transporter."

This gets Chekov's attention. "He beamed them off?"

"A savvy move, Mr. Chekov." En'Faiz shuts his screen off. "He was able to beam them several sectors away, to a neutral planet that they were able to hail Starfleet ships from. The transporter appeared to be calibrated in such a way that they beamed faster than ever, resulting in all of the lives of the ship being saved. Now, I wonder where he got that equation?"

"From me," Chekov says. "He got that from me… the day the Enterprise blew up."

"It appears so," the admiral says, a hint of a smile on his face. "People owe you their lives, Mr. Chekov. Starfleet thanks you."

Chekov's breath catches, but Chekov turns away from them before Scotty can ask any more questions. "Can I see Hikaru now?" he asks.

"Of course, Mr. Chekov."

The door closes behind Chekov, and the three of them gather by the window to see him settle beside a sleeping Sulu. "He'll be okay, right?" Scotty asks Cynthia.

She gives him a tremulous smile. "I think so. He's a strong kid."

"He cares very much for Captain Sulu," En'Faiz notes.

"They're best friends." Scotty rubs his neck. "Worked together on the _Enterprise_, went to college together, worked on the bridge as navigator and helmsman – they're inseparable, really."

"I figured as much." En'Faiz watches the two of them inside. "It must be difficult for him in this time."

"Incredibly difficult," Scotty agreed. "But for Hikaru's sake – and for Pavel's – I hope he's strong enough for both of them."

* * *

DON'T JINX HIM, SCOTTY!

Much love,  
ohlookrandom


	25. Chapter 25

Sorry for the long delay, you guys! It's been a weird time trying to adjust to college life again and moving in and what not. Thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews, favourites, and follows! You guys are wicked cool.

Disclaimer: NAH.

* * *

"You're an idiot," Chekov says when the door clicks shut behind him. "Hikaru, if you can hear me, I hope you know that you're the biggest idiot I've ever seen. _Voluntarily offering yourself to the Choshans_? Have you lost it?"

There's no reply from Sulu's unconscious form. Chekov didn't think he was going to respond, so he keeps going anyway. "You're not Jim Kirk. You had _no backup _going in. Are you _crazy_?" He takes a seat next to Sulu. "Did you think that was bravery? I think it's more like insanity."

Resting his chin on his hands, Chekov takes stock of Sulu's visible injuries. There's a thin scar running down the right side of his face, and the bruises are spectacularly purple and blue on his neck and cheek. Chekov thinks about the frustration of the Choshans when they were unable to get information physically, and the mental torture they must have inflicted on Sulu.

"What did they do to you?" he whispers.

Sulu does not answer. The machine continues to beep, letting Chekov know that for the time being, at least Sulu is alive.

"You know," he says, trying to keep the silence from crushing him in the room, "this reminds me of the last time Captain Kirk was in the hospital."

He imagines Sulu scoffing. _How so_?

"Well," he says, "you know – how we revived him with Khan's blood. And how we stayed with him every day until he woke up." He shifts position. "You've only got me, I'm afraid."

_That's probably enough_, he thinks he can hear Sulu say with a smile.

"I watched the videos," Chekov volunteers after a pause.

_Yeah_?

"Yeah. You didn't have to do that for me." Chekov looks up at the ceiling. "But thank you. It was… nice. To hear them all again."

_A happier time_.

"Yeah," Chekov says again. "I think – I think I've let go a little bit, you know. The ghosts don't visit me anymore."

_That's good_.

"So – you know. Don't die on me." Chekov twists his fingers together. "I don't want your ghost on my conscience, too."

He can almost see Sulu's face in his mind, twisting into an expression of reproach. _This isn't your fault. None of this is your fault_.

"I should have been there. I could have gone with you."

_I wouldn't have let you_, Sulu says sharply. _I was the diversion. My crew is safe. You did well. You saved them, even when you weren't there._

Chekov quirks a smile. "You and your _stupid _reckless actions."

_I learned a bit from Jim_, Sulu agrees in Chekov's head.

Chekov goes silent again, watching Sulu's chest rise and fall, breaths shallow and pained. "Come back," he says quietly. "Please."

_I am trying_.

"Try harder," Chekov says, and thinks he can hear Sulu laugh.

There's a rap on the window. Chekov looks up to see Scotty gesturing to him. _Five minutes, _he mouths. Chekov gives him a thumbs up and Scotty disappears from the window.

_You'll be okay, with or without me_, Sulu says reassuringly.

"I know I will be," Chekov says. "I'd just rather be okay _with _you."

_Can't always get what you want in life, Pavel_.

"I know _that_. All I'm asking for is this one thing. Come back to us, Hikaru." Chekov stands, chair scraping across the floor. "One more thing. I got the job."

_Of course you did_. Sulu's pride is a warm glow in Chekov's imagination. _I'm not surprised. _

"I won't be doing it if you die on me," Chekov says flatly.

_You can't blackmail a comatose person_, Sulu protests.

"Watch me." Chekov crosses the room to the door. "I'll be here tomorrow, Hikaru. You hang in there."

The door shuts behind him before he can imagine Sulu's reply.

* * *

A little bit of a filler chapter, I'm afraid, but the next chapter will be up soon, I hope!

Much love,  
ohlookrandom


	26. Chapter 26

AHHHHHHHH I AM SO SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT YOU GUYS. College is a CRAZY time! I've been ridiculously busy and I thought I would have time to upload chapters, but I guess not...

So I am so so so so sorry about that. Have a chapter to make up for it? :3

As always, thank you so much for the reviews, messages, favourites and follows! You guys are really the greatest for being so patient and for being so encouraging.

Disclaimer: I own nothing and no one associated with Star Trek! Except Maiko. I like Maiko.

* * *

{November 2264}

"Morning, Mr. Chekov," the nurse greets him as Chekov staggers through the swinging doors, holding a stack of books. She smiles at the sight of him trying to balance five thick books on top of one another. "Need help?"

"I've got it, thanks," Chekov says from behind the stack of books. "Any change?"

"Not so far, Mr. Chekov," the nurse says patiently. She's familiar with him; all the nurses are at this point, since Chekov keeps coming back day after day to visit a still comatose Sulu. "Are you reading to him today?"

"These? No. These are for my new job." Chekov grins ruefully when he looks at the top book. "Hikaru wouldn't understand a single word of this; he was never very good at physics."

Scotty's inside the room when Chekov struggles in. "What did you do, rob a library?" he exclaims, rushing over to help Chekov and saving the pile from toppling onto Sulu's bed.

"Only checked out a few books," Chekov says defensively.

Scotty glances at the book he's holding. "_Physics in the Universe. _Bit of a heavy read for Sulu, don't you think, lad?"

"It's not for Sulu," Chekov says, "it's for me. If I'm going to do this job right, I need to know what they're teaching these days."

"Yeah, well, you'll probably find a million errors in those books." Scotty sits back down by Sulu's right side as Chekov takes Sulu's left.

"Anything change?" Chekov asks, more out of formality since he already knows the answer.

"Not unless you count me having to fill the pitcher up twice," Scotty sighs, going back to his communicator. "I wish Spock were here. He'd know how to fix it – what with the crazy mind-meld technique those bloody Vulcans have-"

"He'll be fine," Chekov says, sounding a lot more confident than he feels. "Hikaru did hang out with Captain Kirk a lot."

"Which explains the reckless, _stupid _move he made-"

"That's what I said," Chekov exclaims.

They would have commiserated over Sulu's actions more had the door not suddenly opened. The nurse on duty sticks her head in. "Mr. Sulu has a visitor," she announces sunnily. "My, but he's popular, isn't he?"

"I don't trust her," Scotty mutters as the nurse withdraws her head. "Too damn _happy _about everything-"

Chekov grins at him as Sulu's third visitor slips in. Chekov rises to his feet immediately; he'd recognize that red tinted hair anywhere. "Maiko," he greets Sulu's sister. "So good to see you."

"Likewise, Pavel," Maiko Sulu says, embracing Chekov as he bends down to give her a hug. "And you must be Montgomery Scott?"

"How does everyone know my name?" Scotty wants to know, shaking the hand that Maiko offers him.

Maiko laughs – a laugh that reminds Chekov of her brother's. "I'm afraid my brother told us some stories of your escapades on the _Enterprise_, Mr. Scott. You're quite a well-known name in our household."

"Oh, he did, did he? Did he also tell you about _his _little adventures?"

"He told me. It was something that he didn't particularly want to inform our parents about, as you might imagine." Maiko smiles wanly before looking at her brother. Chekov moves aside for her to take his seat. "How is he?"

"Physically, he's in top shape," Scotty says. "Your brother's a strong man."

"I heard he was tortured," Maiko says, stroking Sulu's hair away from his face.

Scotty and Chekov look at one another, guiltily shuffling their feet. "Well-" Scotty begins.

"You don't have to lie to me, Mr. Scott," Maiko cuts in. "I've heard the stories and I've read the papers. Is he going to be okay?"

"We don't know," Chekov says honestly. "He's not responded to us for over a month. His injuries and scars are healing fine, but…"

He trails off, not knowing what to say. Maiko doesn't push for more information, just continues stroking her brother's hair off his face. "I looked up to him, you know," she says wistfully. "My big brother Hikaru – working for one of the best ships in Starfleet. He got to go places I could only dream about."

"Why didn't you ever join Starfleet yourself?" Scotty asks curiously.

"I wanted to stay home and support my parents," Maiko says. "Besides, I was never very good at straying far from home. Hikaru – Hikaru was different. He wanted to explore, to see new things. He liked to fly."

"Starfleet was good for him," Chekov says, remembering the light in Sulu's eyes when he'd given him his blessing to return.

"It was. He was happy. But Hikaru's always felt a little bit guilty, I think, leaving even though I told him to." Maiko's fingers linger on Sulu's scar. "Hikaru carries the guilt around like a battle wound. Sometimes I worry that the guilt will eat him alive. He never did like leaving people behind."

It makes sense then – why Sulu had been so insistent on staying all this while. Scotty and Chekov exchange another glance.

Maiko pushes herself to her feet. "Will you two be here for a while?" she asks. "I have to call my mother and let her know how he's doing – she would have come herself, but she's frail and bedridden."

"One of us is always with him at all times," Scotty says.

"If not both of us," Chekov adds. "The doctor thinks it might help, us being familiar presences around him."

Maiko rubs her eyes. "Thank you. You know, Sulu always spoke highly of the pair of you."

Chekov feels his lips curl up in a smile. "Yeah?"

"He did. He spoke of you as though you were brothers." Maiko pauses before she turns the doorknob. "You know… after the _Enterprise _blew up, he told me that he was just grateful that you two were okay. He thought of you as his family." She pulls the door open, adding, "He said that you were probably the only ones left who could understand."

She's gone before Chekov can call her back. He wants to ask her if Sulu had the nightmares that he had, if he saw the ghosts like he did. He wants to know if Sulu ever woke up in the middle of the night screaming for people he could not save. If he constantly reflected on Kirk's last bet with him, if he remembered the last time he'd messed with Bones just for the hell of it. Did Sulu have sleepless nights wondering if it would be easier to just end it all? Did he struggle to watch those videos, too?

Chekov suddenly feels guilty for freezing Sulu out all those months. _How long have you been carrying my burdens as well as yours_? he asks Sulu's sleeping form.

The answer comes unbidden to his mind, a whisper in Chekov's voice, not Sulu's: _Long enough_.

* * *

For everyone who is wondering about Sulu's fate, we will find out soon enough! Will he live? Will he not? Only time will tell. No one is safe... (thunder clap)

Please don't stone me.

Much love,  
ohlookrandom


	27. Chapter 27

Hello my lovelies! I hope you are all doing well and that everyone is doing okay. Cookies and blankets for you all - I'm not sure how emotional this chapter is going to be...

Disclaimer: I make really good chocolate chip cookies but that's about it, I'm afraid.

* * *

In late November, the blow hits.

"You can't do that," Scotty snaps at Dr. Eker, who, to be fair, looks understandably nervous about delivering the news to a furious Montgomery Scott and a frustrated Pavel Chekov. "You can_not _just waltz into the room and tell us that you do not think Captain Sulu will-"

"Sir," the doctor says, "please lower your voice, there are sleeping patients here-"

"Yeah," Scotty says even louder, "and you know who else is a sleeping patient? _Captain Hikaru Sulu, _captain of the bloody _Enterprise_! Do you even give two damn-"

"Mr. Scott," Eker says, his pointed ears turning bright red, "please, I am begging you to lower your voice-"

"_Not until you-_"

"Scotty," Chekov intervenes, grabbing the furious engineer by the shoulders before he can lunge at the doctor. "Scotty, _calm down_ - Scotty!" It takes all his strength to restrain the angry Scotsman from punching the lights out of Eker; he hasn't gotten any stronger in these last few months and Scotty is certainly bigger than he is. Chekov shakes Scotty for good measure. "Calm down," he repeats, his tone as level as it can be. "Go call En'Faiz and Cynthia, okay?"

Scotty shoots one last withering glare at the doctor before snatching Chekov's proffered communicator from his hand. "Damn right I will. You just bloody wait-" He stomps out the door.

Chekov sighs, feeling older than twenty-three years old. "Sorry, Dr. Eker. Mr. Scott gets a little hot under the collar sometimes. You understand…"

Eker busies himself with smoothing down his lab coat. "I do, Mr. Chekov. Sometimes it's hard for the patients to come to terms with the impending loss of a loved one."

_Forget Scotty, I'm going to punch you myself_, Chekov thinks, his fists clenching before he gets a hold of himself. "Well, you see," he says, his voice tight, "we don't think Hikaru is unresponsive to the treatment, so-"

"His brain patterns have showed little change in the time that he has been here," Eker says, consulting his notes. Chekov digs his nails into his palms to stop himself from smacking the clipboard out of the doctor's smooth, manicured hands. "The fact of the matter is, Mr. Chekov, Mr. Sulu is simply not going to make it on his own."

Chekov takes a deep, steadying breath, unwilling to accept that finality. "No, Dr. Eker. I disagree."

"With all due respect, Mr. Chekov, I am the medical expert in the-"

"You say that there's been _little _change in the brain patterns," Chekov blurts, grabbing at straws, anything to stop the doctor from implying that Sulu is going to die. "But there have been _some _changes, correct?"

"Yes, Mr. Chekov, but not enough to be statistically _significant-_"

"Screw significance," Chekov says a little more fiercely than he intends. He checks himself, forces himself to relax. _If you're going to win this argument, you need to do it with logic_. "There's been a change. That's a lot better than what was happening a month ago."

Eker shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Mr. Chekov. The point I am trying to make is that Mr. Sulu has little to no chance of making it on his own. The hospital has patients, some with much more dire need than Mr. Sulu's, and any extra bed is enough for them." He hesitates. "It might save a life," he adds.

"And what about Hikaru's life?" Chekov asks, still trying to keep his tone level. "Don't you think he deserves to be saved, too?"

"With all due respect, Mr. Chekov, Hikaru Sulu is hooked up to the machine. He is not showing any responses to you, or Mr. Scott, his sister, or me." Eker checks his notes. "You're fighting a losing battle."

He's slammed against the wall before he has any instinct to move, knocking over a hospital android carrying syringes and hyposprays on a metal tray. Chekov's eyes are alight with an angry fire, but his tone is still level and cool as he speaks. "Say that again, Eker."

"Mr. Chekov, get your hands off me-"

Chekov's face is a mask of grief and rage. "Let me tell you what a losing battle is, Dr. Eker. A losing battle is standing and watching as your family members get blown up and you can't - I'll tell you what –" He grabs Eker's shirt in a tight fistful and slams him against the wall for good measure. "I'll fight, alright, but it won't be a damn losing battle this time-"

"_Mr. Chekov, get your hands off me right now or else-"_

This is the last thing he remembers. Later on, Scotty tells him – with a little bit of pride in his tone – that Eker had taken a swing at him and that Chekov had taken him down easily with a few well-aimed punches. Cynthia adds, a little tartly, that it was a _miracle _the hospital was even going to let them back in on the premises. When Chekov sheepishly asks En'Faiz about it, the big man only smiles and says that the Federation has connections in the hospital.

(Really, En'Faiz confides in his secretary later, it was a damn good thing that Dr. Eker was one of the least liked physicians in the hospital. No one was sad to see him get a bit of roughing up.)

So in late November, it turns out that Chekov takes to spending all his time in Sulu's presence, watching the endless peaks and valleys of his friend's vitals and brain waves scroll across the screen. "What is the point of knowing what your blood pressure is if you're not even awake to see it?" he asks Sulu.

No response.

Chekov sighs. "Hikaru, if you can hear me, tap once."

Still no response.

"Yeah, I didn't think that was going to work." Chekov gets up and stretches out. "Sorry you're stuck with me tonight. Scotty said that he was going out with Cynthia. I guess it's their anniversary or something." He rolls his eyes. "Scotty. Anniversary. Never thought I'd hear those words in the same sentence."

He imagines Sulu laughing, and smiles briefly. "Sorry your sister couldn't be here, either," he says, shrugging even though Sulu can't see him. "But your mother – I guess she's sick. I'll call her the minute anything changes, though, so you know – give me something to call about."

The machine beeps, and Chekov chooses to believe that Sulu's talking to him through the machine. "Yeah, well. Life's crazy, Hikaru. I was supposed to start teaching about a month ago, but you went and got yourself into this mess, so I'm here taking care of you."

Oh, he knows what Sulu would say: _You didn't have to_.

"Shut up," he says. "You would have done the same. You _did _do the same, might I remind you."

_I'm awesome_.

"Sure. You just got yourself stuck with a bunch of hostile psychics. Bet you didn't see that one coming." Chekov laughs shortly. "I hope you didn't break out jokes like that while you were there, because it might explain the torture they inflicted. Tap once if you agree with me."

Something beeps in his bag, and Chekov pulls out Sulu's old screen, the one from what seemed like ages ago. "I still have this, you know," he says, waving it before remembering that Sulu couldn't possibly see. "Uh, by this I mean your screen. Remember? The one you threw at me when you left the first time?"

_It's been a while. _

"Yeah, it's been more than a year now." Chekov flicks the screen on and watches as the hologram pops up. "Strange how things have changed. Back then I was the one who needed help. Now it's you. Maybe next year we'll have to help Scotty. Won't that be fun? What do you think we'll have to help him with?"

_Probably getting home from a bar when he's had too much to drink_.

"Most likely," Chekov snorts. "Hey, let's watch those videos together. They cheered me up. Maybe they'll help you."

The video cycles through Uhura and Spock as Chekov leans back and takes in their smiling faces. "You know, it's funny, I think Doctor McCoy would have strongly disliked Eker," he comments. "Even Spock was a better physician. Agree or disagree?"

Finally, the video comes to rest on Sulu's face. "And then there's you," Chekov says. "You look so much better back then than you do now. Must be the scar." He smiles to himself. "Hey, I don't know if I ever told you this, but – thanks. You know, you've always been the one to understand what I needed."

_What, love and care? _Sulu scoffs in his head.

"Well – that, too. But you were my first friend, Hikaru. I hope you know that. I'm sorry I didn't tell you when we were together." Chekov sighs. "But if all things fail – if this is the end – I hope you know that you're like a brother to me."

He sees it before he hears it.

He thinks he's imagining the almost imperceptible lift of a finger from Sulu as it lifts a few inches off the sheets before coming back down, tired from its weak sojourn into consciousness. But then his attention is diverted by the sound of beeping machines as Sulu's brain waves suddenly shoot off the charts, jagged and leaping. Chekov leaps to his feet, unable to believe what is happening. "Hikaru?"

The door slams open and nurses pour in, shouting instructions. Chekov is yelling to be heard over the sound of the commotion as nurses gently but firmly push him out the door: "Hikaru? _Hikaru_, can you hear me?"

He's not imagining it. Right as the door slams in his face, he sees Sulu's head move towards the sound of his voice.

* * *

EKER. YOU FOOL.

But also, Suluuuuuu. :)

Much love,  
ohlookrandom


	28. Chapter 28

The bad news: I am terrible at keeping this up once school starts (and I heartily apologize!).  
The good news: We're almost finished!(Or this could be bad news, I don't know.)

Disclaimer: I own nothing Star Trek.

* * *

{December 2264}

The hospital won't let Scotty or Chekov in for two weeks as they run tests on Sulu, and even En'Faiz can't beg them otherwise. "It's _agonizing_," Chekov complains to Scotty as he paces. Scotty doesn't disagree with him; he only raises a beer bottle before taking another sip.

The only news they get these days comes from Maiko, who dutifully calls every evening to tell them what's going on. "They think he's going to make a full recovery," she says at the end of the first week, her voice thick with tears. "It's a miracle, they're saying."

Scotty whoops when a dazed Chekov hangs up. "Well, if anyone is in the field of performing bloody miracles, that would be us!"

Chekov thinks of all the crazy stunts they've pulled off over the last few years, and can't help but privately agree. He goes to bed feeling empty – but the kind of good empty, the kind that one only feels when a weight has been rolled away from their shoulders.

Kirk comes to see him in one of his dreams, leaning against the wall: "Told you it was going to work out," he says, smiling. "I don't believe in no-win scenarios, and you don't either."

Chekov only smiles back.

Finally, the hospital calls to let Chekov and Scotty know that they can finally come back in. "You think we should get him flowers?" Scotty asks as he grabs his jacket from the coat rack.

"Nah. He was barely dead." Chekov grins. "Besides, how do you think he'd react to a bouquet of flowers?"

"He'd probably dissect them and start reciting everything he knew about them. Let's not."

They get him a card instead.

En'Faiz is waiting for them outside in the second waiting room, arms crossed. "Took you long enough," he rumbles.

"What, were you _timing _us?" Scotty asks indignantly.

"We stopped by to get a card," Chekov explains diplomatically. "Have you been in to see him yet?"

"I have." But En'Faiz makes no further elaboration.

"And…" Scotty prompts.

"And nothing, Mr. Scott. Captain Sulu is recovering about as well as I have been hoping for." En'Faiz makes a slight bow. "I must return to Starfleet. Mr. Chekov, I presume that with Captain Sulu's recovery, you will take up your post as Starfleet instructor?"

Chekov hesitates. "Can I talk to you about that later?"

An eyebrow is raised, but En'Faiz makes no remark. "Very well, Mr. Chekov. You know where to find me."

"What's that about?" Scotty asks once En'Faiz is through the door. "Not getting cold feet, are ya?"

"It's something I need to discuss with you and Sulu eventually," Chekov says.

"Whoa, wait. What would have happened if Sulu hadn't woken up?"

"Then this wouldn't be a point of discussion," Chekov shrugs. "But it _is_, so – trust me on this, okay, Scotty?"

A door opens down the hall and Maiko emerges from it. "Oh, hello," she says cheerfully when she sees Scotty and Chekov walking towards her. "Good, you're here. He's been asking for you for two weeks."

"Nurses wouldn't let us in," Chekov says. "They said they were running tests and would only let family members in to see him."

"Oh, they ran tests on him, alright," Maiko says. "I think my brother has seen more hyposprays than he's wanted to in his whole life."

Chekov remembers Bones jabbing Sulu with a hypospray after a particularly dumb stunt, and can't help but grin. "So… can we go in and see him?" he asks.

"Yeah, for sure. I'm just headed out to go get some lunch."

When they get in, Sulu is dozing lightly, but he jerks awake when Scotty closes the door behind him. "Hey," he says, but it comes out as more of a whisper. "Long time no see."

"If you didn't look like you were going to die at any moment, I'd yell at you, Hikaru Sulu," Scotty says sharply. "That was the _stupidest _thing you've ever done."

"And here I thought I was going to get a warm welcome. Why did I expect any different?" But there's a half-smile on Sulu's face.

"Don't worry," Chekov quips, taking a seat. "I won't yell at you."

"_Thank _you, Pavel."

"Until later."

Sulu wheezes a sound that sounds vaguely like a laugh. "Fair enough."

There's a long silence before Sulu breaks it. "No one will tell me anything concrete. Did my crew make it?"

"You think that would be the first thing they'd tell you," Scotty says.

"They said something about not stressing me with unnecessary information. But let's face it, I've watched the news for two weeks, that's stressful enough."

"Your whole crew made it," Chekov says. "Every one of them."

"Good." Sulu breathes out this word, his eyes fluttering shut. Chekov experiences a few moments of terror when he imagines Sulu hanging on for this long before dying in these insignificant lulls.

"You used my equation," he says just to shatter the silence. "From the _Enterprise_."

"It was worth a shot," Sulu says without his eyes opening. "That equation saved them all, it seems. Thanks."

He doesn't say what Chekov is secretly thinking: _that equation is a symbol of how I tried to save my first crew, and failed. _

Scotty clears his throat. "Well. You've missed some pretty important things in the time that you've been dead, Hikaru."

"Yeah? Like what?"

"Like the fact that Pavel here got the job at Starfleet," Scotty says, clapping Chekov's shoulder.

"You got it?" A smile drifts across Sulu's face. "That's awesome, Pavel. Knew you could do it."

"I'm not taking it," Chekov blurts.

"What?" Scotty and Sulu ask at the same time.

"I don't belong in a classroom," Chekov says, staring at his shoelaces. "I don't belong here."

"Yeah, but-" Scotty begins.

"No, no, _listen_." Chekov takes a deep breath. "If there's anything this last year has taught me, it's that I've been avoiding the problem."

The other two just watch him carefully.

"For people like us," Chekov says, "we belong up in the stars. Exploring. Doing things that we love. So I'm going to reapply to Starfleet. See if maybe they'll give me my old job back…" He trails off. "And if not, then I'll keep going. As long as I have you two to support me – because you're family."

He sees it dawn in Sulu's eyes, and knows that of _course _Sulu would understand better than anyone else. "You want to get back on a ship."

Chekov only nods.

"I don't see anything wrong with that," Sulu says, his eyes fixed on Chekov's.

"I do," Scotty says flatly. "No offense, Pavel, but can this be the shock talking? Your best friend just came back to life, and maybe it's understandable that you want to protect him because he's an _idiot_. I get it, lad. But are you sure you're ready for this?"

"As long as I have the both of you there," Chekov says quietly.

Scotty eyes him. "Look," he says, voice softening, "I'm not saying that you shouldn't do it. I'm all for you getting back on the ship, lad. It's just – I want you to do it for yourself. Not because you think it might bring back James Kirk and everyone else. Things won't be the same up there."

Chekov is ready with his answer – he's thought about this for nights on end before coming to his decision. "Nothing I ever do will bring them back, Scotty. I've come to terms with that. This is for happiness, for my own good. That's where I belong and you know it."

Scotty takes a deep breath before letting it out through his nose. "Well, I guess I can't stop you."

"You can join me," Chekov offers.

_That _gets Scotty's attention. "Say that again?"

"We could work on the same ship again," Chekov says. "You love engineering, Scotty. You took apart my clock just to see what modifications you could make to it."

Scotty considers this for a moment. "So you're suggesting that all three of us get back on a ship?"

Chekov simply nods. "It's a suggestion."

"You're not even well enough to do that," Scotty appeals to Sulu.

Sulu only shrugs. "En'Faiz said I could get back to work once I'm fully healed."

Scotty stares at the pair of them.

"What do you think?" Chekov prompts.

Scotty opens his mouth before he closes it again. "I think-"

Chekov and Sulu wait for his answer.

"I think you're both bloody _insane_," Scotty finally exclaims. "Bloody _crazy_, the lot of you-"

Chekov doesn't know why, but he begins laughing really hard, the kind of laughter that starts from somewhere warm and slips out without warning; the kind of laughter that linger on the lips of survivors after they've been rescued from the mouth of the storm. Scotty and Sulu begin to laugh, too, the former chortling and the latter softly chuckling so not to rip his stitches.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Chekov thinks he sees Bones, Spock, Uhura and Kirk leaning against the wall, smiling proudly at him. But when he turns his head, they are no longer there. He waits for the twinge that reminds him of how much he misses them; but it no longer twinges painfully, only a soft throb, and it is then that he realizes how much he's grown since a year and a half ago.

Maybe, he thinks, maybe things would turn out for the best after all.

Almost there - I can see the finish line. Thank you all for supporting, reviewing and favouriting!

Much love,  
ohlookrandom


End file.
